The Forsaken
by Elliotsmelliot
Summary: It starts and ends with a prophecy, but there’s really nothing divine about the mess Charles and Eloise made over the course of sixty-five years. Also features Richard, Daniel, Ben, Juliet, Sawyer, Horace, Penny and Desmond.
1. Prologue and Coronation

x x x

_Between the beginning and the end, they will keep coming: the righteous and the sinners, the strong and the weak, the saved and the fallen. Only one of them truly belongs. You will know them by their innocence. You will recognize their unique connection to this place. You will test them as they test you. I trust you, Richard, to find my replacement among the forsaken before it is too late._  
- Jacob

x x x

**1942 – Prelude**

Charles is found washed up on the island's west beach with a life preserver marked _SS Sarpedon_ encircling his narrow hips. Seaweed lies tangled in his mop of dark curls and his pale skin is bruised and puckered from its ocean journey. Richard loses count of how many times the boy heaves and coughs up mouthfuls of salt water. When he's finally emptied his body, his tears begin and he cries for "Siti."

That's the last time Richard is ever witness to Charles's tears. The boy recovers his strength quickly and expresses no remorse over his castaway status. He later confesses that he had stolen a lifeboat from the passenger ship taking his mother and sisters back to England. A storm foiled his plans to row all the way back to occupied Singapore where he would rescue his father from a prisoner of war camp, kick the Japanese off the Widmore tea plantation, and reunite with his beloved nursemaid Siti. It was the first of Charles's great plans and not the last to involve waging war to claim a piece a land he thought belonged to him.

No one is sure when or how Eloise arrived on the island. One afternoon Richard finds her sitting under a tree in a meadow. From the amount of mango rinds and banana peels at her feet, the girl has been there for a while. She's dressed in a remarkably clean white pinafore tied with a purple satin sash and shiny black shoes. One blonde braid remains tightly wound, while the other has come loose and flutters in the breeze. She's carrying a little straw purse which she proudly shows Richard contains a pair of white gloves stained with mango juice, a crinkled program for a 1935 Savoy Theatre production of _The Pirates of Penzance_, and a small bone which she insists belongs to a dinosaur. All she'll tell Richard is that her name is Eloise Martha Hawking and that she is five years old and tomorrow is her birthday. He takes one of her sticky hands in his and escorts her back to camp.

It escapes no one's notice that Charles is put out by Eloise's appearance. For almost two months he had been the camp's darling foundling, and now he has to share the spotlight. When his tantrums only gather glares, he takes to impressing the adults with his feats of bravery. He climbs the highest trees and catches poisonous snakes. He learns how to shoot and then make his own bow and arrows. One day he limps back to the camp and explains he was kicked by a wild horse he tried to ride. Still all Eloise has to do is call an insect by its Latin name or hit a pile of rocks with her sling shot, and she gathers all the coos.

Soon there is no competition. On the day Eloise turns seven, she tells Charles a story he recognizes as _Alice in Wonderland_ and snickers when she offers to take him to see the white rabbit. Richard overhears her tale and asks her to show him what she means. Charles begrudgingly tags along and she leads them to a grassy knoll where she points to a small round hole next to a boulder.

"This," Eloise explains with a precocious flourish of her tiny hand, "is where I came from."

Charles begins to roll his eyes until he notices Richard's go wide. Seventeen days later, when the digging is stopped and the wheel installed, they find a way off the island that doesn't require entrance by land or by sea. It's not the last time Eloise follows her past and leads them through an underground journey that changes the course of history.

When Richard returns from the other side, sunburnt and dusty and holding a Tunisian newspaper from 1921, he declares with pride and relief that when Eloise turns eighteen she'll be their new leader. It's not the first or last time Richard thinks he's interpreted Jacob's prophecy correctly.

**1954 - Coronation**

As usual, Eloise hears Charles before she sees him. First there are the pounding hooves that always announce his arrival. These substitute as his greeting and before he even dismounts he starts barking questions that sound like orders.

"What the hell are you doing, Eloise?"

As usual, she ignores him and dumps the wheelbarrow full of sand down the hole. She adds two more buckets of water and a shovelful of gravel transported from the quarry. Eloise leans over the stone wall to take a look at her progress. After almost a full day's work, she's managed to fill the hole in a third of the way with her crude recipe for cement. As she heads back to the beach for another load of sand and water, Eloise wipes her palms across her pants, leaving traces of dirt, sweat, and blood from her opened blisters.

The horse stomps and whinnies when Charles gets off, and over the squeaky wheels she can hear him whisper something sweet to calm it. Any tenderness has vanished by the time he blocks her path. She could just go around him but she's tired and uses his posturing as an excuse to rest.

"Get out of my way."

"Everyone's looking for you. Did you think to run this…," he gestures back to what she still calls The Rabbit Hole but everyone else refers to as The Passageway, "…by Richard? Or anyone?"

She straightens up even though it causes her shoulders and back to ache even more, and matches his icy glare. "I'm in charge now."

"So this is how it's going to be?" He looks her up and down, pretending to be shocked. "Little Ellie plays dictator, and we all grovel at her feet and say, 'Whatever you think is best, your majesty.'"

"I'm doing this to protect us, not that you'd understand." She pushes hard and the wheelbarrow knocks his right kneecap. He curses and clutches it and stumbles out of her way. It doesn't slow him much, and soon he's following behind her like an angry puppy.

"If it's so important, why are you out here by yourself? You could have had all your royal subjects working as slaves."

"It's something I had to do."

It's true that she feels responsible for The Passageway since it was her discovery, but Charles was right about her purposeful deceit. She was going behind everyone's backs because a decade's worth of Richard grooming her and preparing everyone else for her leadership did not mean there would be a seamless transition overnight. Turning eighteen had not stopped people from referring to her as Little Ellie and giving her braids a playful tug. How could she lead them if they did not take her seriously? Today's act would undoubtedly be read as a rash unilateral and possibly immature decision. But given the camp's recent attack by the people who claimed to be time travellers, Eloise felt it in her bones that The Passageway needed to be closed before anymore twitchy scientists and murderers poured out.

"How is this helping us? You're cutting us off from our quickest supply route and your own research!"

"Charles..." She stops unexpectedly and spins around, coming face to face with him. Their noses are only inches apart and she's so close she decides she must be inhaling his exhales. Only a shortness of oxygen could explain the dizziness that overtakes her. She takes a step back. Once there's a little distance between them, she finds her voice again. "If those people were from the future, then what is down there is more powerful than we ever imagined. We need to shut it down and end this now."

He frowns. "But they didn't come through The Passageway. They just disappeared!"

"There has to be a connection, and I can't risk them returning. Richard may be fascinated with them, but I can't forget the old man, who I may remind you killed Lester and Theo, promised to come back. It's my job now to protect the camp and this island."

If she's not mistaken, Charles's mood shifts at the mention of the two men they had lost. The defiance he so often wears crumbles and is replaced with something close to shame.

"About Theo…," Charles begins, then drifts off; his eyes fall to the ground and his feet do a nervous shuffle.

Eloise had never seen him look so unsure. This novel display of vulnerability softens her heart. He must feel responsible for losing them on a raid he had been put in charge of, she thinks. Or perhaps he's feeling something close to survivor's guilt. It's up to her now to rebuild his confidence. That's what a good leader would do, not let anyone fall apart.

"Charles, that wasn't your fault. Theo died defending the island."

He appears to think about her absolution, then swallows hard and looks up at her. "We all do what we have to do."

"That's right."

She feels compelled to offer him more reassurance and goes to put her hand on his shoulder, only to unexpectedly graze his cheek with the back of her hand. He flinches at her touch but does not recoil, only stares at her quizzically. In response, she jerks her hand away and he catches it with his own, and holds it tight against his chest. A heat flares in her face that has nothing to do with working all day under the sun. Suddenly she sees Charles not as the boy who spent their childhood wanting nothing to do with her or the young man who had been a constant thorn in her side, but something else entirely.

Eloise thinks Charles might be pondering the same thing when his familiar scowl returns, and the moment is lost.

"Ellie, what have you done to yourself?" He unfolds his grip and studies her mangled palm. Then he plucks her other hand and clucks his tongue at its matching blisters. "This is ridiculous. You know better."

She snatches her hands away from him. "I'm fine."

"You have to take care of yourself. We can't lose you." He says this with a healthy dose of his customary arrogance, but underneath that there is enough softness that Eloise wonders if their moment had not been lost for good.

She crosses her arms. "Well then, will you help me fill the passageway?"

"Is that an official order?"

"It is."

Charles stands at attention and offers her a mock salute, accompanied by a flash of his rare smile. "Then I have no other choice but to obey."

He picks up the wheelbarrow's handles and pushes it down the path to the beach. Eloise watches his walk, half march, half swagger, clearly all for her benefit. It would be amusing if she was not suddenly struck with a forbidding sense that Charles would prove to be her undoing.

"We all do what we have to do," she repeats his words to herself

x x x


	2. The Truce

x x x

**1973 – The Truce**

Charles's earliest memory is of the tiger cages at the London Zoo. He knows he couldn't have been older than three at the time because this was before his mother took all the children and joined their father on the family's tea plantation in Singapore. There had been two tigers in the exhibit. One was named Bridget, and within the large enclosure, she had repeatedly paced a figure eight pattern in one tiny corner. If his tabby at home was the picture of comfort curled up by the hearth, this cat was anything but. Over and over again, she repeated the same footwork, head bowed, eyes down. Even at his young age, he had observed how warped captivity made her. Meanwhile her companion was a regal creature named Oliver who lay sprawled in the centre of the exhibit, looking quite pleased within himself, and certain the visitors were at his mercy.

He is drawn to this memory because right now, moving into his third week as a prisoner of the Dharma Initiative, Charles is doing his very best to give the impression he is Oliver. He lies on the bench that serves as his bed as if he is perfectly content to be in this basement cell. He is gentlemanly to his jumpsuited captors and thanks them for his twice daily meals. He wants his enemy to grow complacent, and feel safe in his presence; then one day, he will open his mouth in a yawn and ripe open their throats. Yet the longer he is behind bars, the harder it is to keep up this act and the more he feels like Bridget. Having spent thirty years in the wild, free to do what he pleases, the shame of being captured and caged is becoming more than he can bear.

At the end of his third week, Dharma's pumpkin faced leader appears flanked with a security team of five, one of whom carries a cattle prod and a black hood. Charles puts up a fuss, struggling and cursing, but there's a part of him that hopes Horace is here to execute him. That way he can exit the world with his dignity intact and die an honourable death. It's a fleeting thought. As soon as he's taken aboveground and fresh air hits him, Charles's thoughts turn to escape. They can put as many rainbow coloured boxes they call houses here and tame the jungle with their lawnmowers, but this is not their home, and they will never know this land as well as he does.

They march him across their gravel path and push him up into the back of one of their vans. He hears another vehicle follow them down a sloping path which Charles guesses is taking them on the south road that Dharma started to build before the war broke out. Up front he can hear Horace murmur something to the driver about _the hostiles_, but the hood has hampered his hearing, and he can't make out the deliberately quiet conversation. From the smells around him, Charles guesses there are three guards sitting in the back near him. He subtly strains against the ropes binding his wrists and finds them tight, but there is enough space between his upper arms to create a vice. He lets his body roll in time as the van bounces up and down. With each bump, he slides over a centimetre until he can feel the body heat of the guard closest to him. On the next bump, he'll make his move.

The wheels hit a rut in the road and Charles uses the momentum to swing his arms like a club across where estimates the nearest guard's face to be. He makes contact with flesh and bone and what feels like a nose. There's a groan and Charles's arms flop around until they touch hair and then he hits hard again. Before he can slip the guard's head between his arms, the safeties are clicked off at least two rifles, and the van halts, causing the one behind to slam into them. Charles spills forward onto the floor. He flips onto his back, his arms and legs flail as they try to come in contact with anyone.

Then a rifle butt digs into his cheekbone, and he is back in the position where he was three weeks ago, when they caught him sabotaging their armoury. The cotton sack billows in and out around his nostrils and mouth. Some light filters in through the weave and he can make out the shadowy figure standing over him. Once again, a part of him wants to scream, "Just do it!" but two visions stop this call from rushing out of his lungs. Ultimately he knows his people will win this war—today, tomorrow or a year from now. They have all the advantages, and he would take great joy in witnessing the last Dharma body being thrown in a pit. However, a smart man always has a back up plan; he's not foolish enough to believe anyone – not Ellie, not Richard, and certainly not Jacob – can keep this island theirs alone forever, and thanks to The Passageway, he has prepared for that dark day. He is a survivor, and always will be. It's not his time.

"Phil! Stop!" Horace hollers from the front. "We need this truce to happen."

_Truce?_ Charles blinks madly. Had he heard that correctly? He couldn't have. It's a scenario he had not even taken into consideration. They would be victorious or die trying, and if necessary, abandon the island temporarily. There is no way Ellie would have agreed to a truce. It must be a ruse to draw the Dharma leaders into a trap. Well then, he would play his part as a willing accomplice to this deceit.

The rifle butt is withdrawn and someone, Phil presumably, yanks Charles up and pushes him back again the bench. He hisses into the hood, "Truce or no truce, you try something again and so help me, I'll blow your head off."

Behind the mask, Charles grins and imagines very soon it will be he who blows Phil's head off.

They drive for another ten minutes before the terrain gets too rough for the vans. They continue their journey by foot, and if Charles's masked orientation is correct, they are heading toward the island's tallest incline, Arcade Peak. It is Horace himself who takes him by the arm and proceeds to narrate the landscape so the prisoner can keep his footing. Charles has seen a dog perform the same task for a blind man in the outside world, and thinks this is a very fitting role for Horace. Maybe he will keep Horace alive, Charles muses, and have him fetch items and do tricks for him.

Before they reach the meadow at the base of the peek, he catches Ellie's scent on the breeze. It's only a whiff, a hint of citrus, sweat, and the tea tree oil she dabs behind her ears to keep the bugs away. Briefly, it fills his hood and offers him further incentive to see this ruse through. By sundown he plans to be lying between her legs, while she gasps and tugs at his hair, as they celebrate their triumph.

He hears voices ahead, the nervous twitter of women and a crying child, probably that red headed tot they captured not long before he had been taken. Ah, Charles guesses, this must be the set-up for the mock prisoner exchange before all hell breaks loose.

When they're in the meadow, Horace pulls Charles's hood off. The bright light assaults his eyes. It takes them a moment to adjust to the midday sun, and then he takes in his surroundings. Each side is lined up, facing each other, much like they did in the days of Napoleon and Nelson. With a quick count, Charles gathers his whole camp is there, and with them are their prisoners, the women they took, the little girl, a few of their scientists, and about a half dozen sad looking security officers. A very grim Richard and Ellie stand at the front, neither bother to acknowledge Charles's presence.

Dharma has brought a much smaller party which seems odd, unless it is a sign of how many casualties they've suffered. There is a security detachment of about eight men, Horace, and the Chinese doctor in charge of Research and Development. Charles notes he's the only prisoner they have, so he figures they must be smart enough to know their so called truce is a farce when the sides are so lopsided. Despite this, some formal discussion occurs between Richard and Horace, and he catches a few words, including "the new border...prisoners...consequences...responsibilities...full moon."

After this exchange, Richard looks back to Ellie who gives the slightest of nods, and he reaches in his satchel and hands over a rolled document. Horace takes it and passes it to the doctor who unrolls it, scans what appears to be a map and nods. Horace adds his own dip of the head accompanied by a goofy smile and then reaches out his hand. In return, Richard stares him down and Horace finally guesses their transaction will not be sealed with a handshake, so he shoves his hand deep into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

Throughout all this, Charles keeps one eye on his people at the back of the pack, whose weapons must be well hidden, and the other on Ellie, who is almost trance-like in her steeliness, and has not even let one eyelash flicker his way.

And that is it.

There is a rush of bodies as his people's prisoners are let go and they reunite with their Dharma brethren. Some of the women weep and one of the men who had guarded him runs over and sweeps the little red headed girl in his arms, covering her in kisses. Charles remains where he is until he realizes no one is paying any attention to him, and he is free to leave. He crosses the invisible line that has been drawn between the two groups and rejoins his people. He's greeted warmly by a handful of comrades, but most look defeated and don't even meet his eye. Then without further pageantry, each side begins their retreat.

Charles pushes his way through the crowd to where Richard stands. Ellie, he notices, has already started walking back and has not bothered with a welcome or to clue him in to what is going on.

"What the hell was that?" he demands, as Richard unties his hands.

"That was the first minutes of our truce with Dharma."

"We were winning!"

"We were." Richard takes out his canteen and offers it to Charles. He's too distracted to notice his own thirst and swats it away with a wave.

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Richard drinks from his canteen and turns his deadened stare to Charles. "Eloise wanted peace."

"But…," Charles feels like all his senses are still hampered by the hood. He eyes the departing Dharma folks, rejoicing together as they scurry away. His voice drops, "We're counter attacking later, right?"

"It's over."

Richard speaks like it is unbelievable to him too, and it's not a disbelief that is expressed with relief or joy. Even though Richard is clearly worn out by their almost year long battle with Dharma to the point where he is barely recognizable with his long hair and grubby clothes, he seems just as disappointed with Ellie's choice. Yet Charles suspects Richard's obscene loyalty and pride will prevent him from saying any more on the matter, so he leaves the man and worms his way through the crowd.

He finds Ellie walking by herself, using a broken branch to randomly poke at foliage. He matches her pace, and waits for her to begin. She takes her sweet time, and then only says, "You're well?"

"Me, I'm fine! Have you lost your mind?"

Once again, Ellie can't even bring herself to look at him or answer his question. She begins to strip the bark off the stick, another one of her nervous habits. He can't take her avoidance so he pushes in front of her. She comes to a quick stop and tries to step passed him but he catches her wrist, and with his other hand, he dares to lift her chin with his finger, forcing her eyes to meet his. Where triumph should shine, she looks conquered.

"Not now." She squeezes those two words out like each letter causes her great pain.

Now it's his turn to be silent and he lets his previous question hang in the air between them. The others spill by, giving the couple wide berth. It's not until the rest are out of earshot that Ellie responds.

"I did what had to be done."

"For who? Not us. Not the island."

"It was necessary."

"Excuse me for not being blessed with the wisdom of the anointed one. How could this possibly be necessary? Even Richard looks completely unconvinced."

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"No, you don't have to explain yourself to _them_." He gestures forward into the jungle where the rest of their people vanished. "But of all people, don't I deserve an answer?"

She poses with one hand on her hip. "Why? Because on the occasional night you share my tent?"

"It's only occasional because that's the way you like it," he snaps.

"I'm not looking for a husband or a consort."

"You could use both because you're doing a terrible job alone."

Charles anticipates the slap before her hand swipes his face. He had not realized how much he missed her touch in these last three weeks until he relishes the sting her hand brings. It's also a sign that she's not lost all of her fight, and at that thought, a grin spreads across his lips. This only serves to infuriate her further. With her cheeks flushed and eyes glowering, she takes him in from head to toe, as if determining where to attack next. He leaves himself exposed, on display for her fury.

She chooses to play nice, or at least nicer. Ellie reaches up and grabs the base of his jaw and uses it as leverage to crush his lips to hers. At first all she offers is sheer will, flesh and bone mashed together; her kiss is about as tender as her slap and marks him in the same way. Eventually she loosens her hold on him, so her hands can roam his body and her mouth, his neck. She nibbles and bites, and caresses handfuls of him front and back. As she works her way up and down, he lets out little groans that give the impression she can have him any way she wants.

It gives her the idea to steer him up against a tree, and proceeds to treat his groin, as she had his mouth. She rocks hard against him, pushing, grinding, and adding her moans to his. He remains passive until her hands reach his belt, and just when she expects full surrender from him, he decides her turn is over. Charles grasps her waist, and spins her until she is the one pressed against the tree. She tries to twist him back, but he pins her there, and just waits and watches, enjoying the feel of her squirming against him, trying to regain her position.

It's a familiar battle, one that could last for hours and leave them spent and sore and fully satisfied on the jungle floor. But this afternoon Ellie wants the upper hand more than her own pleasure, so rather than give in, she throws something unexpected back at him.

"They were going kill you."

"Who?" he asks, honestly ignorant; any other battle of wills was less important than the one in front of him now.

"Dharma."

"Maybe," he agrees, and tugs her blouse from her pants.

"No, they delivered a message."

The arousal fled his body as her words sink in. His limbs grow heavy and he releases her. "No. No. This truce was for me?"

Her response is to slump against the tree and close her eyes. When she opens them again he can see tears hover in the corners but don't fall.

"Eloise, be serious."

"I couldn't let that happen."

A rush of emotions overtakes him as he gapes at her. Anger. Resentment. Disgust. He cannot deny a sense of the pride is also present; he would never have guessed at what he was worth to her. But all those sensations cannot compare to the excitement Charles feels over Ellie's blatant weakness, revealed not only to him but to their people, Richard, and Dharma. She put them all at risk for a selfish desire of her heart. There's an opportunity to be had here. Surely Richard or even better, Jacob has to see this weakness and reconsider her leadership.

"Charles..."

"Shhhhh…." He buries everything else down, and allows only appreciation to show. He cups one cheek in his palm and kisses the other ever so gently, whispering, "Dear Ellie…"

She shivers, and rests her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Charles. I know it wasn't right."

"Well make it right." He strokes her hair. "What are the terms?"

"They have a five kilometre square stretch of territory, with their village at the centre." She sniffs and shudders. "And the other island. We'll share the quarry and they have to replant anything that dig up. Trespassers on either side will be shot on sight."

He hides his utter shock at the quantity of territory handed over to these barbarians. The land she describes holds great riches, above and below the ground, most importantly, the site of The Passageway.

"Ellie, The Passageway."

"On the map it's marked as an abandoned well with contaminated water. They won't know what it was."

"How can you risk that?" He asks this softly, seething on the inside.

She grows stiff in his arms. "And now you won't be tempted to use it anymore."

"What?"

She leans back so he can see her face. The tears have dried and there's a new resolve present. "Charles, I've known about your alternative entrance for years, and what you've being doing on your so called walkabouts."

It's an evening of surprises. Like her before, he lets his silence reveal his guilt. He steps away and increases the distance between them.

"You've built up a whole other life out there." She list off his crimes on his fingers. "The bank accounts. The properties. The investments under the name Widmore Industries. You always claimed the outside world is corrupt, and now you're living proof of that."

"That was for us Ellie, in case we ever had to leave." He softens his voice again, and reaches for her, searching for evidence of the place he holds in her heart and only finds coldness. "We would have the support we needed to survive out there and the resources to get the island back."

"You're greedy Charles, always have been."

She's wrong about the greed, at least financially. He doesn't care for the luxuries he can afford. It's just a thrill to get away with it all, and so easily. Go forward and back, and then invest in what will make him rich. And now he does not need to do that. His investments make their own money legitimately now. It's a game and his safety net, their safety net. He was not lying about that part.

His sincerity is lost on her. Ellie's on roll now, the confidence he had shaken in her earlier has returned. She paces back and forth. "You abused the gifts the island offers for yourself and exposed us all in the process. How are we to know Dharma did not find us by following your investment schemes and travels?"

He doesn't admit he thought of that himself when the scientists first appeared with their gifts and questions, and played Christopher Columbus meets the primitives. "You know right well, I did not lead them here."

Then she thrusts her dagger in further. "Jacob has wanted you gone for awhile. I've promised him you will behave." She lets her warning sink in, then adds, "We've sealed up your hidden entrance. If you ever find a way to use The Passageway again, I cannot save you again."

He attempts one of Richard's cool stares but can't pull it off, so he shrugs, and says, "Your truce won't last."

"It doesn't have to. I got what I wanted."

"Richard was wrong about you."

"That doesn't mean he was wrong about you."

With that final retort, Ellie smoothes her hair back and strides away, leaving Charles behind. He remains where he is and ponders which tiger he is when he is with Ellie: Bridget, the broken one who sees his trapped fate or Oliver, the one that knows no cage can hold him. For the first time he considers if Oliver had been the foolish one all along, deluded into thinking everyone underestimated him, when really he had underestimated everyone else.

With that, he sets off at a different angle from Ellie, not even sure where their camp is right now, and being forced to follow the others' tracks. As he walks, his rage subsides, and he takes comfort that he and Ellie are at a familiar crossroads, one that could last for days, weeks or months, until one of them appears in the other's tent and their equilibrium is restored.

x x x


	3. New Moon

**1977 - Full Moon**

Ever since the first one occurred almost four years ago, Eloise has come to regret making these monthly meetings a term of the truce. They were pure pantomimes; a midnight masquerade where each side donned false pleasantries and pretences instead of costumes, and then went through the motions of pretending they were each something they were not, namely, civilized. Even the very setting was theatrical; a table set for four at the quarry, the only location each side had each rights to. Originally Richard had scheduled these gatherings to coincide with a full moon, which Dharma had taken literally and opted for holding every meeting under the bright night sky. Perhaps Horace chose the time because he was hoping to witness the island natives shed their human skin and don their wolf hides or something equally ridiculous.

"So our botanist has identified the parasite as…," Horace glances at his notebook and then proceeds to slaughter the Latin, "_igidoporus lignosuungal_."

Richard's expression remains neutral and his voice measured. "Which is a direct result of your removal of the ground covering that normally protects the tree roots."

It's an accusation but a fair one, and it comes with none of the smugness or irritation that Eloise would have marinated her words with. On the best of days she is terrible at pandering to the ignorant Mr. Goodspeed, but tonight she allows Richard to do all the talking. An outbreak of tree rot is nothing compared to crisis brewing inside of her.

Horace has enough sense to look sheepish for a moment. "Amy cooked with it, the moss. All the wives did for a while. It made delicious jellies and desserts."

This gentle admission doesn't bring its desired levity, so Horace's companion LaFleur steps in to add, "But don't you worry, we're back to satisfying our sweet tooths with Dharma brand Pudding Pops."

While Richard and Horace discuss the best approach to combating the tree rot, Eloise allows her mind to wander. Beyond the tedious business to attend to, tonight's meeting has another purpose for her. It's the only opportunity she will have to make her request. If she waits another month, it will be too late to doing anything safely. Yet even with a deadline of sorts looming, she is unsure if she will attempt to pass on the folded note in her pocket, addressed to a woman she's never met. To do so would mean putting great trust in a stranger, and in accepting she is meant to so something with her recent visions.

For the last three months, quick flashes of what she guesses are a picture of the future overtake her once or twice a day. Eloise presumes she is meant to divine information from these glimpses of the island's destiny, most of which appears to focus on the era that LaFleur and his party came from, long from now. Occasionally they are from a period closer in time, and involve Charles and the appearance of familiar and unfamiliar Dharamanites. It's impossible to piece together a chronology; most of the flashes are fractured, without beginnings or ends, and reveal only the briefest information – a new face, a relationship, a betrayal, a death, a profession made known, but none of the context. If there is any consistency, it is the gloominess that prevails in all of them.

In them, she has never encountered herself and is not sure how to read that, though one answer is obvious; she is not _here_ in the future. Yet the fact that she is being granted this access suggests she is somehow significant to the future. Why is another question altogether. Her only answer was that the arrival of her visions had coincided with Dr. Chang's discovery of The Passageway and the breaking of ground at the site they call The Orchid and the new life that grows inside her. Perhaps one or both of these critical events have tampered with her sense of time.

Her private rumination is interrupted as she is asked to weigh in on the next agenda item. Horace has questions about this year's early migration of seabirds. While Richard explains this is usually a sign that we are due for a heavier winter storm season, Eloise fingers the folded piece of paper in her pocket and studies LaFleur. Ostensibly, he is here as Horace's protection, just as Richard is here for hers. He has been accompanying Horace for the last year and a half, ever since he became the head of their security force. All things considered, that had been a welcomed change in personnel. She loathed Eric Radzinsky and it was only her great disdain at touching him that had stopped her from reaching over the table and breaking his neck each time he opened his squeaky mouth.

Unlike his predecessor, LaFleur had an ounce of common sense and a certain grace. Through the privileged information she held about him, both from their previous meeting decades ago, and now from the visions, Eloise was quite aware that his actions served only himself, and perhaps by extension, the people he came with. It was to her people's benefit that LaFleur or Sawyer or James or Jim or whatever he answers to, was too busy trying to hustle Horace and the rest of his fellow jumpsuits to worry much about the so-called Hostiles, and therefore he made a fairly agreeable attendee at these meetings. There was always the possibility he would push for a war behind the scenes, if needed as a cover for any suspicions Dharma had about him, but for the most part, LaFleur did what he could to check Horace's behaviour and his keen senses kept Dharma from looking as foolish as they were.

LaFleur is quite aware of her study of him this evening, in fact he invites it. Like her, he has tuned Richard and Horace out as much as possible. He leans back in his chair, and folds his hands in his lap, giving the impression that by allowing Eloise's eyes to fall on him, he is fulfilling some desire of hers. She imagines this is how he was on the outside, when he preyed on women for money. She smirks at the image of him trying to use his good looks and charm to lure her into bed. In response, he flashes a grin that tells her not to be so sure, few women have ever said no to him. At once, this gesture of his triggers one of her flashes.

She sees LaFleur lying in a bed arguing with the dark haired woman she recognizes from previous visions about the cages. She can almost feel the heat that rises up from their bodies; anger and resentment are mixed in with yearning. Taunts about an unwanted pregnancy are exchanged. The woman shuts him up with a slap and LaFleur is stunned. He had thought victory was near. The woman allows a solemn glance back before she leaves, it's a look Eloise interprets as disappointed or even broken hearted, but only because she has had several visions of these two to piece together their complicated and frighteningly familiar back and forth history.

Then the vision lapses and she is back in the here and now. She notices in the seconds that have passed, LaFleur's grin has vanished and he seems to be elsewhere too, not caught in a vision, Eloise is sure she is the only one having these, but for whatever reason, he has allowed himself to let his guard down and slip away. Perhaps he is thinking of the dark haired woman who left him behind. More likely he is wishing this meeting was over and he was back in his comfortable bed with the blonde woman he calls his wife, the one whom the note in her pocket is addressed to.

"Eloise?" Richard prompts, bringing her back to the business at hand. "Do you have anything to add?"

She has lost the subject of conversation completely but trusts Richard knows what he is doing. "No."

"James? Are we good?" Horace asks.

LaFleur sits up straight; the far away look is replaced with one that suits his head of security persona. "On Wednesday I'll be sending Kwon to the north peninsula. Make sure all your people are aware of this."

Richard nods; it was an arrangement he had worked out with LaFleur soon after he arrived. The time travellers were allowed onto their territory once a month to search for their missing friends. In return, John Locke was to be taken to Richard immediately upon his arrival. Meanwhile, Horace is oblivious to the nuances of this transaction and smiles because he thinks the Hostiles are being compassionate.

"'Til next month then."

Horace's statement is what always ends these awkward gatherings. The four of them rise from their seats, and LaFleur collapses the card table. Eloise hands him her chair to stack, and without further internal debate, she passes the note to him. He palms it without a reaction and slips it into the saggy pocket of his jumpsuit. Then she turns on her heel and accepts a torch from Richard. The two of them leave the quarry and retreat back into the jungle.

As always, Charles is waiting for them below the ridge. He's leaning against a tree with binoculars hung around his neck; his rifle is slack in his hand. She knows for the length of the meeting it had been raised and his sniper scope had been directed at Horace's head. Early on Charles had accompanied her to one of these meetings when Richard had been away. To call it a disaster would be polite. If she has slim patience for the silly truce she had manufactured, Charles had none. He had deliberately provoked Horace and even came to blows with Radzinsky, which was well deserved, but unacceptable. If the truce were to end, it will be on her terms, not because Charles had a temper. Since then, he had been banned from the meeting, her decision, not Dharma's. He makes do with accompanying her on these journeys and prides himself on having her back should Dharma turn on them.

He greets her with a kiss on the cheek. Waiting in the dark always makes him amorous, and she knows it is only a prelude for what will follow when they reach their camp. Sometimes she allows Charles to have her here, in the clearing under the moon. She imagines the only reason he doesn't turn these meetings into a massacre is because he knows he would be out of her good graces, and thus out of her bed, for a long while. Tonight she does not encourage him; she is too tired to do anything but curl up in her bedding and fret about what LaFleur will do with the note.

Charles wraps an arm around her shoulder; his breath tickles her ear. "Did Pumpkin Face mention their new project?"

"Of course not. They have no idea we know about The Orchid," she snaps, but it has no bite. The torch she's carrying seems unbelievably heavy, or maybe it's her limbs that weigh so much. How could a creature that she imagines is no bigger than her own thumb steal so much energy from her? She could not do six more months of this, she was sure of that. Absentmindedly, she rubs her neck, and for once Charles seems to notice her weary posture, and takes the torch from her.

"I could always pay a little visit to Dr. Chang." He suggests as they continue on toward their camp. As usual, Richard has gone on ahead of them. "He has a new baby now and could be persuaded to divulge more details than we have taken from their files."

"Lovely idea, Charles."

Her sarcasm frustrates him, and in turn he replies with an unnecessary lecture. "We should consider any means necessary."

"I'm on top of it."

She resents his implication that she is unaware of The Orchid's great importance. If she did not allow her own lover access to The Passageway, she certainly did not want a fool like Horace harvesting the power to bend time and space. Ever since The Orchid site was revealed to them, Charles has led a team to clandestinely study Dharma's progress. There were already plans in place for a natural looking sabotage of the site but she wanted to hold off until they had all of Chang's research. She has always wanted to be able to control the energy there, and she believed Chang and his staff had the resources to learn more than she ever had about that location's potential.

Still, her blood runs hot and cold at the mention of the doctor's newborn and Charles's purposed use for it. If he knew about their own baby, he would likely see him or her as an object too, something to be used to solidify his position with her or even the island. To be honest, she doesn't know if she is any different. Ever since her short sighted reasons for a truce, her favour had slipped with Richard and her people. Being chosen by Jacob to have a child and giving the island an heir might woo them back to her. But it's not something she is sure she would want for herself or the child. She is not sure she wants this child at all. It marks her as weak and different, an outsider in her own community. She is a shepherd, a warrior, and a daughter of the island. She is not a mother.

Charles abandons his lecture and walks beside her silently. Meanwhile her mind returns to LaFleur. Undoubtedly he'll ignore the fact that her note is addressed to Juliet and read it himself first. Then he'll have to decide whether to throw it away, pass it on to Horace or actually show it to his wife. Given all this, there is a very small chance, that the woman Eloise knows from her visions as Dr. Burke will meet her at The Staff Station in three nights, and help her get rid of the baby she carries.

x x x

On the day she is supposed to meet Juliet, Eloise keeps busy. At dawn, she accompanies a group to the shore and clears out and resets their shellfish traps. She spends the morning tending to the fire as they steam crabs. The smell turns her stomach and at one point she vomits in the bushes. After that, she collects laundry and brings it to the basin. She takes great satisfaction in beating the wet clothes against the rocks. Then she spread the laundry to dry on the nearby grass and in the mellow afternoon sun, she lets her eyes close as she rests against a tree.

She dozes for a bit, and then wakes on the edge of a dream, or possibly, it's a flash thrust upon her. If so, it's the first one she had ever seen that included herself, a much older version of herself. Looking down, her hands are spotted and wrinkled, and she carries herself with the burden of age. Eloise can see she is dressed in fashion she vaguely remembers her mother wore – sensible heels, stockings, a stiff coat over a skirt and jacket. She is doing a good job of pretending to be a lady, she thinks. Palm trees sway nearby, but the blaring horns and screeching tires tell her she's on a sidewalk off a busy street. Beside her, Charles stands in the dark, his curls gone, and his face ashen. Even decades later his eyes were still the blue of the ocean after a storm. Like her he was dressed differently, a dark suit and coat. She thinks he looked the way outsiders dressed for a funeral. Who died, she thinks?

Then she speaks. The preordained words feel clumsy in her mouth but she spits them out with great force. "Sacrifice? Don't you talk to me about sacrifice, Charles." She can feel her hands, in fact her entire body, shake with a delicate rage. "I had to send my son back to the island, knowing full well that—"

Unlike now where Charles always matches and often surpasses her anger, this Charles is quieter, almost calm, resigned even. He simply says, "He was my son, too, Eloise."

His remark infuriates her and the only deserving response is a tight slap across his face. As she does this, she is struck by how warm and tender his wizened face feels under her hand. She is tempted to cup his cheeks and search his face for understanding, but her hand is withdrawn with haste. There is no rebuttal from Charles. The vision ends there.

Off island with Charles, obviously not on a casual trip for supplies? That alone takes her breath away. She can't even begin to contemplate the mention of a son discussed in the past tense with such regret and loss from both of them. A son who had been on the island when they were not? Eloise closes her eyes again, and lays the palm of her hand on her still flat belly. _A son_, she thinks. She tries to imagine a little boy clinging to her hand, as she shows him all the wonders of the island. It's not an image she can hold before it dissolves into only the words she projected.

The laundry is dry. She gathers it and returns to camp, distributing it to the appropriate tents along the way. As she eats her dinner, she sees the crab shell held with the same hands from her vision. Not only were they older, but they were soft, and free from the calluses that exist now. It disturbs her and she loses her appetite. After dinner Eloise sits and absentmindedly chats with some of the women who are working on a quilt. It seems to take forever for dusk to dissolve in darkness. Finally she says good night to Charles who is engrossed in a game of chess with Richard by a campfire. He's close to winning, and barely acknowledges her comment about needing her sleep, which is her way of saying for him to stay in his tent tonight. Then she goes and sits cross legged on her blankets, meditating and failing to focus. Once she hears the first snores around her, she slips out of her tent, leaving her rifle and torch behind, but allowing for a knife strapped around her ankle. She fades into the jungle and before long she crosses into Dharma's territory.

The moonlight reflects off the corrugated roof of The Staff Station. Eloise flattens herself against a tree and watches. There are fresh tire treads across the path but none of the Dharma jeeps are in sight. It looks and sounds deserted, not open until morning when the nurses and technicians arrive to run their tests. Of course, that is how it should look if no one is coming to meet her or more likely, if she is walking into some trap. She waits and listens.

A splatter of rain begins, heavy at first, then light. She manages to stay fairly dry under the tree cover. Within five minutes the shower is over and afterwards the jungle briefly awakens from its slumber. A monkey calls out and another responds. There's a fluttering of wings as birds rearrange themselves in their damp nests. A tree frog splashes in a puddle at her feet. It almost masks the snapping of a branch. Swiftly, her knife is in her hand and flashes at the throat of the person approaching her from behind.

"Whoa, Nelly!" LaFleur says, his hands held high in protest, his neck craning away from the sharp steel pointed at it. "You invited me."

The knife doesn't lower as she takes him in. At first she almost doesn't recognize LaFleur without his jumpsuit. He's dressed in dungarees and dark green shirt, a fashion choice that suggests he is off the clock.

"I didn't invite you."

"You saw fit to use me at your messenger, so here I am."

Eloise lowers the knife but keeps it gripped tightly in her hand. She swiftly looks from side to side but sees and hears no one else. "Are you alone?"

With the knife gone, he lowers his arms. He doesn't answer her question and instead tosses it back to her. "Are you?"

She gives a quick nod. If this is going nowhere, she wants the meeting over quickly. Thankfully LaFleur wastes no time with small talk.

"Who the hell is Dr. Burke?" he asks.

"Your wife," she responds, and clarifies when she realizes she doesn't know the exact status of their relationship. "Juliet, the woman you came with."

"The woman I came with works in the motor pool. She's no doctor."

Eloise purses her lips, and runs her tongue over her teeth. She expected this query from him and decides information will do just as well as an actual explanation. She takes a deep breath and releases what she has gained about him from her visions. "You're real name is James Ford. You used to be and probably still are what they call a Confidence Man. You like to read books and throw around insults. In twenty-five years you're going to crash on this island and become a major source of annoyance for everyone. One day you'll choke a man to death in that the wreck of that ship you told Horace you were looking for."

He remains unflinching throughout her report. With her last comment, he feigns any disturbance and shrugs. "Yeah? What's my hat size?" he drawls. She doesn't respond, just stands with her free hand on her hip. His eyes narrow and he takes a step toward her. "I know some things about your people too. By the time I get here, there's no bossy broad playing Queen of the Island. Nor is your hulking paramour around. In fact your entire little band of merry men is being led around by a bespectacled troll who likes bunnies."

"Fascinating." It comes out sarcastically, but it actually is pretty interesting. And his statement confirms the conclusions she had drawn from her own absence in the flashes. That being said, what happens twenty-five years from now is not her priority, at least not tonight. "Is that all?"

"Let's get one thing straight. Tonight's a one time deal." LaFleur raises his finger. "If you even look at Juliet in a way that upsets her, I'll send your ass back to the other Neanderthals you live with in trash can. Your people show up looking for you, and I sound the alarm. If you ever mention this meeting to anyone—"

"A list of how macho you are is not necessary, Mr. LaFleur. Discretion is what I'm looking for too. Is she inside?" Eloise nods toward The Staff.

"Come on." Sawyer looks both ways before he leaves the cover of the jungle and crosses the jeep trail. He throws open the door and beckons her to go first. She steps over the threshold, descends the concrete steps and goes through a corridor that slopes downward. When LaFleur closes the door behind them, any light disappears. She feels him brush passed her in the dark and turn a corner. At the end of the hallway, one of the rooms is lit up. She follows him toward the light, very aware of her pounding heart and heavy breathing. She remembers seeing a doctor once, in her life before she came here. He had banged on her knees with a little hammer and given her brown syrup to make her chest feel better. This place smelled the same: the soap was not strong enough to wash away the sickness that lingered on the walls.

Juliet sits on a stool in the office and appears more like a patient waiting to see the doctor than a physician herself. Eloise notes she has a calm, poised face, and suspect it's a reflex to bury any emotion from public, and perhaps even, private scrutiny. Like LaFleur she is dressed as a civilian, her jumpsuit left behind.

Eloise steps into the office. She sees Juliet stare at her hand, and realizes the knife is still there. Eloise turns it over in her hand and returns it to her ankle strap. LaFleur observes all of this from his position in the doorway until Juliet turns her quiet gaze on him and some silent message is passed between them.

"I'll be outside," he says, peeling himself off the doorframe reluctantly. "Keeping watch."

His footsteps echo loudly in the empty hall. Once they fad, Juliet asks Eloise to sit down. She looks to the raised table covered with a sheet and pretends it's not there. Instead she pulls a chair from the wall and sits across from Juliet.

The two women stare at each for a minute, and Eloise thinks they both must be contemplating how strange this is. Though, she reasons, a time travelling doctor playing mechanic must be used to strange. Juliet might not even recognize normal anymore.

"So…," Juliet begins, and Eloise suspects she will go through the same questions as her husband, asking how she knew she was a doctor and so on. "How are you feeling?" she asks, surprising Eloise.

"Fine." It comes out quick, like a defensive kick. It's not too late to pretend this meeting has nothing to do with her body. "How are you?" she asks.

Juliet appears to find Eloise's question a pleasant surprise and her lips turn up. She has one of those smiles that small or not, lights up the whole room. "Fine. I'm fine."

Unlike the quarry meetings, this actually feels sincere, and Eloise relaxes a little. "Thank you for seeing me," she begins. "I need your expertise." Juliet gives nothing away and waits for Eloise to continue. She takes a deep breath and says for the first time out loud, "I'm pregnant."

There is a history to such a statement that hangs in the air between. She imagines it is something that one woman has said to another with joy and grief billions of times. Confessing this gives her unexpected relief. It is no longer just her secret.

"How far along are you?"

"Three months."

"Is there no one in your camp who could help you?"

At first Juliet's question raises Eloise's shields. It's something an enemy might ask to check the opponent's strength and skills. She might be also probing for information about their people's odd birth rate which had been at zero long before Charles and Eloise arrived as toddlers. Jacob brought people to them and created communities not families. However, Eloise needs to remember that it was her who had come to Juliet, and she needs to trust her, if only for tonight.

"There are women who I'm sure hold some knowledge, but this is not something I could bring to them."

A light seems to go on in Juliet's eyes. "Are you thinking of terminating your pregnancy?"

Juliet's words cut the air like a weapon, and Eloise has to think twice before she leaves her knife where it is. Still, her body rages as if attacked; her heart races and her muscles strain. She balls her fists to prevent herself from wiping that tender look off Juliet's face.

"No."

At first she thinks it is Juliet who has spoken and given an outward refusal to Eloise's unspoken request. Then her mouth goes dry when she realizes that word exited her own lips.

"No," she repeats. "I would just like you to….," she searches for the proper term, "examine me and make sure the baby is all right."

It takes a moment for Juliet to respond which gives Eloise a moment to reconsider. There are voices in her head telling her to backtrack and say yes to Juliet's question, but she chooses to ignore them and follow the new thumping in her heart. Juliet's response is to stand and look around the room. She searches through some drawers and hands Eloise a gown. She tells her to change into it and leaves the room. Eloise stands alone clutching the soft cotton robe. One more time, she whispers to herself, "No."

x x x

The vitamins Juliet gave her rattle in her pouch. She doesn't know if she'll take them; Juliet had pronounced her healthy as a horse, but Eloise likes the noise they make, like dried seeds inside a gourd. After walking south from The Staff for about ten minutes, she realizes someone is following her. There's an extra beat to the rattle, a shuffle of steps meant to stay hidden and in time with the noise she makes. She continues on as if unaware, listening carefully. It's not LaFleur's heavy tread or Juliet's light steps. It's possible someone else from Dharma is tracking her, but she doubts they would be as subtle. There is a more likely explanation.

She pauses, her feet sinking into the soft mud. It grounds her, makes her feel apart of the island. "Charles?" The wind picks up her call, and carries it along on its course. As the breeze increases, the wetness settled on the tops of leaves from the earlier rain, scatters, falls on her hair and face. She removes the scarf around her neck, and dries her face. She does not want him to think there were tears.

As if summoned from nowhere, Charles appears both brazen and shamed, rifle slung over his shoulder. He had not wanted to be found, but nonetheless wanted to be known. He looks younger to her, so loose and fresh in the moonlight, almost vulnerable. Maybe it's just a contrast to her earlier vision of him so proper and aged and buttoned up.

"Charles."

"Ellie."

He rarely calls her that. In front of the rest it's always Eloise and has been for years, ever since she turned eighteen and became the test of a prophecy. Occasionally it slips through his lips, often when he's speaking to Richard about her and thinks she can't hear; an attempt to infantilize her, for sure. When they're alone, he usually calls her nothing; there is no need for labels or reminders, but sometimes it comes out as a sigh late at night when he's near sleep and fully satisfied or a gasp when her legs are wrapped around his waist. The last time it was uttered outside their tent was years ago, when she told him saving his life was the reason she made the truce. Back then it had fallen from his mouth, in awe and in disappointment. _Ellie_. It had sounded like a stain, blood spreading across on a white cloth. Tonight it comes out tinny like he's far away and not beside her, like they're speaking on a telephone across an ocean with a poor connection.

This is the Charles that makes a rare appearance. The one who restrained himself from killing LaFleur and storming into The Staff looking for her. It is the one who dug in and found a morsel of trust that she knew what she was doing. This is man who will have no cruel retort for her after she slaps him on a city street decades from now. This is the Charles who calls her Ellie.

"They had something we did not," she begins.

The worry is plain on his face and so odd to see. "In the medical station?"

"I needed to talk to LaFleur's wife, a private matter, between women."

He remains quizzical and when he whispers her name again, she knows she made the right choice. "Ellie?"

"We're having a baby."

A thousand possibilities cross his face, too many for her to interpret beyond the fact that it makes his mind whirl. He's running through the potential meanings of this for her, for him, for them, for all them. Throughout this he has no words to express his thoughts, and there are few things that turn Charles Widmore speechless. Just the same, he shares how he feels. His rifle is thrown to the wet ground in careless manner so unlike him, and he crushes her in an embrace. It's a promise, she thinks. He is with her, for them.  
As he holds her close, she turns her face upwards. It will only remain dark for a few more minutes. Soon the edges of dawn will creep across the sky: pinks turning to purples and greys. A new beginning is coming, she thinks. Charles is correct. The possibilities are endless.

Soon Eloise will learn how wrong she is; there is to be only one terrible possibility.

x x x


	4. Uninvited Guests

x x x

**1977 – Uninvited Guests**

Charles does his best thinking while riding. After discovering Eloise's secret, he spends the day on horseback. It sounds fanciful, and he would never say this aloud, but he believes Antigone, his horse, is his conduit to the island. Whenever her hooves pound the jungle floor or splash through the sea water, he feels the island itself vibrate through his body and speak to him. It grounds him, calls him home, and reminds him of his purpose.

"We're all here to do our part," Richard had explained when Charles was old enough to recognize the island was more than a sandbox meant for his pleasure, but a slice of paradise, _the paradise_, the one pictured in his mother's Bible as a lush, wise and forbidden place.

"What will you do, Charles?" Richard had asked, his usual dose of solemnity doubled for the occasion.

"I will serve," Charles had said, matching Richard's seriousness and hoping the man was not looking for specifics.

"Then it shall serve you," Richard had replied. Though he had smiled with his response, there was a sense of forbidding in what lay unspoken. Fail to serve the island, and it will punish you.

As Charles sits astride Antigone and watches the sun drop behind the valley, he contemplates how until now, he felt certain he had always bordered on the brink of failure in the island's eyes. When he first arrived, he had been who they all had whispered about, the suspected special child Jacob's prophecy spoke of. But then Eloise appeared in her party dress and crooked smile, having inadvertently managed to unleash space and time. From then on, if he wasn't ignored, he was misunderstood, and yet he served. He risked his own life countless times to battle outsiders. He broke rules about worldly dealings only because he thought financial solvency gave them options. He dammed his soul and killed one of their own because he thought it best to protect the island. And for what?

But now, everything had changed. The island had seen fit to reward him like no other. It granted him a child and bestowed the mantle of fatherhood on him. Not even Richard could claim that honour. Undoubtedly, it was his own son or daughter that Jacob named in the prophecy; his flesh and blood will be the island's true heir. That has to be the ultimate reward for his service, and a sign that all is forgiven.

As he steers Antigone home, Charles considers how to meet the new responsibilities coming to him. Now that they are bound together forever, he vows to cherish Eloise like never before. He promises to teach his son or daughter to be strong and wise; he will see to it that he or she will possess all the traits absent in father and mother – patience and kindness, loyalty and honour; his child will be a trusted and respected leader, and not need to rely so much on ancient words woven into a tapestry.

He is still brimming with the joy of his legacy when he rides into camp, and therefore doesn't immediately notice the tense atmosphere. He dismounts and begins to rub Antigone down, all the while composing a list. _Arthur, Hera, Ishmael, Athena._ Charles chuckles as he realizes he is favouring names from the great myths – as if his child will not already carry with it the burden of grandeur. Something simple would be better. _Jane, Matthew, Ann._ One of his sisters was named Ann, he recalls, remembering a world where tea occurred everyday at 4:00 p.m., he wore short pants, and spent his days making model airplanes. For a moment he pauses, and is stuck unlocking a memory. What was his father's name?

_Dale, Darren, Dean…_

His father was last seen on the veranda of the Widmore Tea Plantation dressed in his grey suit, hat in hand, stiff upper lip. Under the hot noon sun, the Japanese soldiers took him and his dignity away. Of course, Charles hadn't seen this; he had been hiding in the fields with his mother and sisters, but he imagined this is what happened. Since then, he had done his research. He knew his father had not survived the prisoner of war camp, but the Widmore women had made it safely back home to Britain. He had watched his grown sisters from afar once, on one of his visits to England. He felt nothing when he saw them. They were a fussy bunch doused with lace and perfume, and seemed none the poorer for losing a brother at sea and a father to war.

He is certain his father's name began with a D. _David, Damien, Derrick…_

If I have a son, he thinks, I would like to name him after my father. Charles looks up from Antigone to see Richard crossing the camp. There is someone who never forgets a thing. Perhaps he once told Richard his father's name. Charles starts to call out to him until he remembers his promise to Eloise not to tell anyone about the baby yet. It is then he notices the entire camp is standing around, conversing quietly in small circles. Dinner sits cooked but uneaten. He slaps Antigone's flank and she canters off into the meadow to graze. Snippets of anxious conversation greet his ears as he makes his way through the camp.

"The Dharma boy…."

"Richard believes…"

"The truce will be over…"

"The temple…"

Anxiety slivers down his spine until he finds Eloise. She is crouched at the far end of the camp, distributing rifles and hand guns from the burrow that houses one of their weapons inventory.

"Good, you're back," she says, when she spots him. "I need you to stand guard at the west ridge."

Her habit of starting off with an order, rather than an explanation, naturally rankles him, but he is reminded of his earlier vow to cherish her, and therefore holds back from responding defensively. "What's happening?"

His newfound patience gives him time to appreciate Eloise is not deliberately provoking him. She is actually at a loss for words herself. At first he reads this as pure fatigue; he notices she has to place each hand on her thighs to push herself upwards. Ever since she told him about the baby, he has been attentive to a new weariness in her. Although there has been little noticeable physical change, she carries herself as if already burdened with extra weight. Then he catches the displeasure in her face.

"Richard has seen fit to take a Dharma boy in." Giving him a moment to process this remark, she removes the band of cloth that keeps her hair off her face, and scoops back loose curls that had escaped throughout the day. She smoothes the hair back and replaces the band. "We expect them to come looking for him."

"What would possess him to do something like that?"

"The boy was near death," she pauses, and then delivers more startling news. "Richard took him to The Temple."

Charles's jaw falls open. He thinks he would be less shocked if Eloise announced Richard transformed into a giraffe.

"He bound one of them to us?"

"He claimed it was Jacob's will." Eloise says this with a resignation that acknowledges the trouble Richard's decision will bring to their camp and the changes that could follow for everyone, especially the two of them. The last thing that had been Jacob's will was Eloise becoming their leader.

Without another word, Charles leaves Eloise and marches over to Richard's tent. He tells himself to be diplomatic, but that promise dissolves as he sees Richard is bent over his wash bowl, scrubbing his hands carefully. It seems symbolic and not just a sign of the man's fanatical neatness. Charles reads the act as Richard washing away his responsibility for such a breach in protocol, and perhaps washing his hands of any previous pronouncements of Jacob's will.

Without looking up, Richard greets him calmly, the way he would if an innocent invitation to play chess was to follow. "Charles."

Charles plants himself firmly behind the wash bowl, determined not to be easily pacified by the judiciously sound remarks Richard has prepared to explain his actions. Of course his poise loses some of its punch when he finds himself automatically handing over a towel for Richard's outstretch hands.

"Thank you." Richard dries his hands as thoroughly as he had cleaned them. "I suppose you are here about Ben."

"Ben?" The name seems all too familiar on Richard's lips, like he had spoken it many times before or at least thought it.

"Young Ben is to be our guest until he is strong enough to return to his people."

Richard had never been a fan of democracy, so it is no surprise to Charles that the matter is not up for discussion. Still, he is immediately relieved to know the boy is not staying; however, that does not excuse the danger Richard has placed them in or the breach of their most sacred ground.

"You do realize what this could cost us?"

"LaFleur brought him to me. Explaining that will be his problem, not ours."

"Do you really believe that?"

"LaFleur has been sent here for a reason. Maybe this is it."

Putting any trust in the cowboy called LaFleur is another matter altogether, but he leaves that for now. "But The Temple, Richard? How could you bring him there?"

"He is only a child, Charles."

"He is not our child."

"One doesn't have to fall from the sky or wash onto our shores for Jacob to have called them to us."

"You shouldn't have…" He is about to chastise Richard further and risk his wrath, when another idea occurs to him. "If you had bothered consulting Eloise, you would know we have much to risk by taking an outsider in now."

Richard's only response is to raise his eyebrow. That gesture carries with it the weight of centuries and is usually enough to silence any debate. Yet Charles continues, bolstered by the confidence that flows from having something Richard never will. "Eloise and I are expecting a child." Richard stands there expressionless, so he adds, "Ellie's pregnant," and then feels ridiculous at the need to be so explicit. Certainly Richard does not need a diagram drawn for him.

"I see," he remarks and Charles knows it is a lie. Clearly he had not seen. An awkward smile and puff of laughter follows. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Then Richard nods to where Eloise stands, arranging for sentries. "When things settle down, we'll have a proper celebration." Apparently that is all Richard has to say on this monumental matter. He retrieves a platter of food covered with a cloth and ducks into his tent. As he does, Charles gets a peek at the unconscious boy. The slight figure on Richard's cot hardly looks like a troublemaker. He would pass as harmless if not for the wound in his chest. What would provoke someone among the child-loving Dharma clan to shoot this boy? Once he's awake, Charles plans to grill him for information and more importantly, make sure young Ben knows where he belongs.

x x x

In the three days following Ben's arrival, the camp remains on high alert. Charles's interrogation of the boy comes to nothing. His mind is too muddled from Richard's ministrations to provide them with any intelligence. The only thing clear is his desperation to stay with them. Under other circumstances Charles might have found Ben's pluck admirable, but now he could too easily become Richard's new pet. Luckily, Richard has other plans in mind and there is no need to force the issue. Believing Ben is more useful to them on the other side, Richard makes preparations to send a message to LaFleur for a pick-up as soon as Ben is strong enough to walk back. Until then, they keep him concealed and sentries on at all times. Everyone's eyes are keen to pick out a brown jumpsuit slipping through their landscape.

Still no one expected anyone from Dharma to arrive so boldly, marching right into their camp, waving a weapon and demanding to see Eloise. From his post on the west ridge, Charles sees the slim man approach and train his gun on Richard. He notes Eloise is on top of this and takes the opportunity to mount Antigone and circle back to pick up the man's trail and ensure he came alone.

Charles can see why young Ben wants out of Dharma. If he needed any other proof of how foolish an operation they were, it is the man's companions he finds gawking in the bushes like they were trying to avoid paying the entrance fee to some peep show and not infiltrating their enemy's camp. The man and woman jump ten feet at the sound of Ellie's rifle shot, and he and Erik take the two in with little fuss.

He returns to camp, his prisoners in tow, to find Eloise the picture of bewilderment. She's standing over the intruder's body wearing an expression that reminds Charles of a day long ago, when Eloise still had a lisp and wore her hair in pigtails. He had found her standing over the dead iguana she had kept in cage and fed crickets and greens. Richard had called it her first lesson in life and death. At the time, Charles had privately thought she had been an idiot to keep it caged and that's what probably did it in. Since then he had seen Eloise stand over the bodies of the dozens of men and women she had killed, the American GIs and a considerable amount of Dharmanites before the truce. While she had never been overly triumphant in her kills, he had never seen her so taken aback at the sight of one before her. She soon recovers herself to query the man and woman he captured. They are put in her tent, but Eloise delays going to them. She remains hovering over the corpse clutching some book, her face drained of all colour.

Charles glances between her frozen stature and the body. He thinks there is something vaguely familiar about the young man with the bloodstained jumpsuit. Perhaps they had an encounter in the war or maybe he had once been Eloise's prisoner. Her sentimental side always struck at the oddest times, he muses. Maybe this is the infamous pregnancy hormones LaFleur's wife warned her about. After awhile, Eloise's interests shifts from the man's body to his book. When Charles dares interrupt her reverie and ask her about the man, she brushes off his questions and goes to talk to prisoners whom she insists are not Dharma at all.

Charles decides to approach a source he suspects will be more willing to talk. A shot of adrenaline surfaces when he finds Richard's tent empty. For a moment he fears Dharma had gotten the drop on them and taken Ben back. Then he hears laboured wheezing coming from below the cot.

"Come up here boy, don't be a coward." There's a shifting under the cot and shortly Charles can see his boots reflected in the boy's eyeglasses. "No worries. You've been given a reprieve. No one's dragging you home to mommy yet."

The boy crawls up from under the bed and dusts the dirt off his pyjamas and bandages. "My mother is dead." He says this with a hint of scorn, like it's a fact Charles should already be aware of.

"Well, I hope that man out there was not your father." It was a comment originally intended as a sneer, but it comes out with real sincerity when Charles realizes making Ben an orphan would likely implore Richard to keep him.

Now that Ben has Charles's attention, he starts pouring on the pity routine, hoping to prick his sympathy chords, and get an invitation to stay. "My dad wouldn't come here for me."

"Well, someone did." Charles grips Ben by his skinny shoulders and takes him to the tent door and points across the body. "Who is he?"

Ben takes a tentative step forward and then shirks back. "I don't know. A scientist? He's wearing grey."

Charles doesn't let him escape back to the tent. "Go on, take a closer look." He tries to propel Ben forward, but for a boy with little body weight and a gaping wound, Ben does a tremendous job of remaining where he is. Charles stops short of manhandling him when he see Richard is watching them from where he kneels, taking his own vigil by the scientist's body.

"Did you shoot him?" Ben asks with a shiver.

"Yes."

"Will Richard take him to The Temple?"

"No," Charles sighs, and then reconsiders. For all he knew, Richard would have done just that if the man had lived long enough to be healed, just to prove he could. Suddenly he feels very out of the loop.

Ben changes the subject. "Why are there no other kids here?"

"Because we eat them." Charles doesn't wait to see if Ben takes his reply seriously. He leaves the boy where he is and goes to Richard's side. "Tell me something. Why is it that this man looks familiar to me?"

Richard's bottomless eyes look to him with what appears to be great pity. He can't query it because Eloise appears, interrupting them.

"Richard, you and Erik are coming with me."

"Going with you where?" For once Richard's confusion matches Charles's.

Eloise nods to the prisoners Erik had taken from her tent. "You can untie them," she tells Richard, unfolding a blanket and stretching it over the scientist's body. "I'm taking them to the bomb." Richard's eyes go wide and then turn mournful at her next instruction. "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

Sometimes Charles believes he spends half his days waiting for Eloise to explain herself, and the rest trying to understand her meaning. This is no exception. He waits anxiously, rocking back on his heels, for her to reveal her plan and his part in it.

She closes the dead man's eyes with surprising tenderness. "This man is…was Daniel Faraday."

The name means nothing to Charles, except it triggers the memory he had been searching for. _Daniel_. That had been his father's name. He is so pleased to remember this that he almost misses what Eloise says next.

"He is the physicist I took to the bomb."

"Ah," Charles says, pretending this was the only piece of the puzzle he lacked. So he had come with LaFleur and now died out of time. He guesses that is rather unfortunate.

"He…," Eloise trails off. Wetness pools at the corner of her eyes causing Charles to fumble for the handkerchief in his pocket. He hands it to her and all she does is clutch it, letting the tears fall. "He thought he could change the past."

"A little late for that, I would say."

"What if he was right?"

"There's nothing in my past I would want to change."

Eloise nods at this statement and smiles at him through her tears. She returns his handkerchief unused, and then plucks the book tucked under her arm and opens it for him to read.

"That's my handwriting."

Charles reads the familiar script, _Daniel, No matter what, remember, I will always love you. Mother._ He looks from the leather bound journal to the body and then to Eloise, a horrifying thought dawning on him. As he pieces together what they knew about the time travellers, his earlier thought echoes in my ear. _If I have a son, I would like to name him after my father._

"No." His voice sounds frail and weak. Charles feels like he's aged a hundred years in as many seconds.

"Before he died, he called me mother."

He refuses to believe. "LaFleur's wife must have told them you were pregnant. It's a trick."

Eloise encircles her hands over his clutched fists and draws him to her, placing his palm flat against her stomach. "I wish it were."

He swallows, bucks up, and pushes down the nausea circling his throat. "What are you planning with the bomb?"

"Erase my mistake. It is worth a—"

Normally Charles found fault with all of Eloise's decisions, be they small or big. He routinely derided her choice of location for their winter camp and questioned her list of supplies to be purchased off island. It was a reflex, one that came from being eager to prove he had something to contribute too, and because he hated the sheep mentality the camp had toward their chosen leader. But mainly, he did this because Eloise had a habit of making outrageous decisions with severe consequences based on nothing more than a feeling. Two of the biggest ones had been her choice to fill in The Passageway and to make a truce with Dharma. Now she had presented him with what sounded like her worst idea yet; a vague plan based on a huge leap in logic, dependent on a dead man's whims, and involving a weapon that could destroy them all. Charles had every right to call into question her sanity and shut down this operation now. Instead he takes a deep breath, and simply says, "Do it."

Eloise flinches at his quick agreement. He wants to say more, and explain his newfound trust in her, or perhaps in the man called Daniel, but Charles says nothing because doesn't want to have to dig any deeper beyond the gnawing ache in his chest. Eloise grips his hand once more and turns from him. He watches her gather the prisoners and relay orders. The last thing he sees her do is lovingly place the journal in her satchel. Once she's gone, Charles stays where he is. Two men come to remove the body and he sends them off. He remains sitting back on his heels; one hand rests on Daniel's covered feet. They, like the rest of the body, seem far too large to belong to his son.

x x x

Two, three hours pass and still he doesn't leave Daniel. The sun reaches its highest point and begins to drop. Charles can feel the progression as the heat passes across his back like the hands of a watch. People step around him, whispering. He should make an effort to assure them in Eloise's absence, but he can't leave Daniel alone.

A shadow appears beside him. Charles moves to shoo whoever it is away, when he sees that it is Ben. The boy's small hands are cupped in front of his bandaged wound, which, Charles notes, is exactly where Daniel was shot too.

"When people die at the Dharma village, someone always sits with the body until their pyre is ready."

"Is that right?"

"But they do it in shifts. Everyone takes a turn."

"Did your mother die here?"

"No. But I see her here sometimes. It's scary, but I like it too."

Charles is deaf to Ben's last words. He had shifted his feet, causing blood to rush to his numb ankles, filling them with pins and needles. His brain similarly buzzes with an idea. Whether Eloise's plan failed or succeeded, there is still something he could do. He turns to Ben and looks him up and down. "Ben, would you be good boy and sit with Daniel until I get back?"

Ben's mouth hangs open. "The children never sit with the bodies."

"Well, you're quite the young man now. I would take it as a personal favour. I know Richard would appreciate it to," he adds, getting to his feet.

Ben nods, and sits down with his legs crossed, about a foot away from Daniel.

"If you feel sick, ask someone else to replace you. Don't leave him alone, do you hear me?"

"Where are you going?"

"A good man always has a plan, Ben."

Charles leaves the camp at a brisk pace and heads in the direction opposite to where Eloise left. Along the way he whistles for Antigone. She appears a minute later from the mango grove with sticky sweet juice on her velvet lips. She comes to him, and he scratches behind her hooded ears. Charles grabs her mane with the hand not holding his rifle and mounts her. Without directing her, she knows to head north toward the Dharma border which they cross without trouble, and onward to The Orchid.

He leaves the horse about a mile away from the station and continues on foot. He encounters no traffic or security patrols. The entire region appears deserted. When he arrives at the station, he finds it too is devoid of vehicles and personnel. Deep tires treads are left in the mud, suggesting people had left recently in a hurry. He takes their absence as a sign this is meant to be.

The building's layout is identical to the stolen plans he has studied and he finds the entrance and elevator easily. He unlatches the safety on his rifle before the door opens, but no one is inside either. In the office, computers have been left on and coffee sat in half empty mugs. He looks through a hole in the incomplete floor and scuttles down the utility stairs to the shaft below.

Smooth reinforced steel make up three walls in the lowest level. In front of him is the crudely dimpled mass of concrete he and Eloise had poured down The Passageway a week after Daniel and John Locke's first visit. She had been right all along. Having the power to bend space and time was not meant for mankind. The least he could do now was ensure Dharma could not use it. Perhaps that would mean in the future, his son would not be lost in time.

A sledgehammer drill rests against a wheelbarrow. Charles goes to take it, and then has a better idea. He returns upstairs and stares at the newly installed chamber built up against The Passageway and begins to fulfil their long delayed plan for sabotage. Charles places any metal object he can find inside the tube – garbage pails, chairs, a heavy stand, even someone's tin lunch pail with half a ham sandwich inside. For good measure he carries up both the drill and wheelbarrow, and throws them in too. Then he seals the door and flips on every switch he can find. At the main computer terminal he enters a sequence of numbers he remembers from the documents they stole from Dr. Chang – 4 8 15 16 23 42.

At first, nothing happens. Then the floor beneath him vibrates and Charles skids into the sharp corner of the desk behind him. Sparks begin to fly in the chamber. A loud whirling noise flares and that is followed by a deafening bang. The lights flicker and the computer monitors in front of him dim and short out. Grey smoke pours from the chamber.

Covering his mouth with his handkerchief, Charles races downstairs again and sees his efforts have cracked open the Passageway. Part of the old wheel is exposed and loose. It quivers in place as if Charles had imbued it with life, not death. His hand reaches to steady it. As he grips the smooth wood he had helped carve, another explosion erupts from above him. The handle slips out of his grip and lodges firmly in a knot of fragmented concrete. He's about to look for the dynamite he knows is stored here and finish the job, when the floor begins to shake again and a bright light creeps out of the fractured rock and turns the room a white yellow. He watches the column of light seep through the entire station. It appears to have enough capacity to the fill the entire island.

He has enough presence of mind to think before he is blinded, "What have I done?"

x x x


	5. Magnum opus

**Part Five -**_**Magnum opus I**_**(1987)**

On Thursdays and Fridays his mother worked late, and Daniel had the house all to himself. He had earned this privilege two months ago, when he turned ten, and no longer had to spend the hours between afterschool and dinner with the Abrahams across the street. He had not minded the previous arrangement; the retired neighbours were a loving couple who fed him homemade cookies and lemonade. Still, he liked his newfound independence, and intended to keep it by following all the rules that came with it.

First, he could not dawdle because he had to be home for his mother's phone call to check in with him. Then he was to finish his homework and practice the piano for one hour. After that he could do what he liked as long as he remembered to turn on the crock pot at five o'clock and not play the stereo so loud everyone on the street could hear. Daniel had been very good at following these rules, though he sometimes made amendments. Most days he would finish his homework on the bus and then spend hours at the piano. Also, he regularly played his mother's albums at a level some might call loud, but he called necessary. Music was not meant to be listened to quietly, he believed. You were supposed to feel it inside you, so your ribs became the harp and your heart, a drum, and your spine, the flute.

Today, having completed all his requisite duties, Daniel lay sprawled on the living room carpet, listening to Debussy's _La Mer_, a soaring piece that brought to mind crashing waves and swirling seas. He had never been to the ocean, but he imagined it to be as moody and unpredictable as Debussy's bursts of sound. He listened to each of the three movements several times, and got an idea. As it was not a piece normally scored for a piano, he had no sheet music, still Daniel thought he could find the right melody for a piano accompaniment.

The speakers hissed as he carefully drew the stereo needle to the beginning once again and he rushed to the piano. His fingers hovered over the keys as he waited for the orchestra to begin. First, came the strings, then the woodwinds, and just before the brass, he added his own contribution, a note here and there, soft and flat because the sea was still calm, yet always in motion. As the tune became jauntier, he picked up speed. Daniel envisioned this section took place underwater, and saw colourful fish dart about wildly, like kites cut free of their strings. Then he stopped for almost a minute, and joined in once more with short tense notes, held with a mixture of simple and compound beats. Now the imagined landscape behind his eyes tossed and turned as high winds changed the water into a predator not unlike the sharks and eels that resided within. Unexpectedly, a new note entered the symphony, a sharp whining sound that shattered his concentration. He looked down at his paused hands accusingly. The note occurred again, and Daniel realized it was the doorbell.

Another rule was never to open the door for strangers. _Never let a stranger in the house, Daniel. Never go anywhere with a stranger, even if he says he knows you or me. Awful things happen to children who go away with strangers._ It was the same message he got at school, however, the way his mother impressed upon him this clause, so regularly and often, and spoke it with more than her normal quantity of authority, he took it all very seriously. Despite this, it was Debussy that rang in his ears now, not Eloise, so he flung the front door open without thinking, and only remembered the rule once he saw the unknown man on his porch.

Good manners wrestled with wariness, which is why Daniel did not immediately fix his mistake and close the door. He considered the man in front of him, tall and slender, and dressed much nicer than any travelling salesman, though he carried a satchel not unlike the man who once tried to sell his mother magazine subscriptions. He also had dark, hypnotic eyes that swept over Daniel, looking him up and down. One might think they would do a good job mesmerizing the object of their attention, instead they looked rather sad or maybe embarrassed at Daniel's appearance.

Despite giving a reluctant first impression, the man immediately confirmed he was indeed at the right house, looking at the right boy. "Hello Daniel."

Daniel was certain they had never met, but sometimes he forgot things, like his running shoes on gym day or the rules for British Bulldog, so he took another look. His mind raced through the possibilities – teacher, neighbour, policeman...father? That last point struck him from time to time, such as when he caught a man's eye at the grocery store or on the street. He knew his father was dead, but that did not stop him for searching other people's faces to catch glimpses of where he came from. This man did have a certain aura of familiarity, but Daniel concluded he was indeed a stranger.

"Do I know you?"

The man provided a vague answer at first, as if he intentionally wanted to catch Daniel's reaction to it. "In a way…I'm Dr. Alpert."

Daniel had been to dentists and eye doctors and had a paediatrician, but he is fairly sure he never met a Dr. Alpert, and never one that made unexpected house calls. Maybe he was not a physician, but a scientist and that thought was very thrilling. If music was Daniel's most favourite thing in the world, science came a close second.

He gawked at the mysterious Dr. Alpert until the man elaborated. "I'm an old friend of Eloise's. Is your mother home?"

A warning bell rang in Daniel's head. _Old friend._ His mother had no old friends, at least none in America. Daniel was pretty sure he knew everyone his mother knew here in Essex, Massachusetts – the Abrahams, Lester who owned the antique store where she worked, their other neighbour, Mary, who gave piano lessons. Like Daniel, his mother was not very social and could count her friends on one hand.

"She's at work."

"I bet she wouldn't like you speaking to strangers." Daniel shook his head, and then corrected the motion and nodded. Dr. Alpert smiled like he and Daniel now shared a secret. "Are you able to call her and tell her I'm here? I'll wait out on the porch while you do."

Daniel thought this was an odd plan. His mother didn't like to be disturbed at work unless it was important, and if this man knew his mother, he would be aware of that too. It wasn't as though his mother had a temper. She didn't scream or punch walls or do anything dramatic, but her face would get very red, and then very white when things didn't go as she desired. Also, she had a way of speaking very quietly and pointedly that made as big an impact as yelling. Daniel didn't like to be the target of her disappointment.

"Is it an emergency?"

"Just tell her Richard is here and let her decide."

So Daniel did as asked. He closed the front door and locked it for good measure; he wanted to show Dr. Alpert he was taking things seriously. Before he got to the phone, he peeked out the window and saw the man had remained where he was, only had turned his gaze from the door to the two big oak trees that stood like sentries in the front yard.

Their phone was in the kitchen, next to the crock pot simmering with tonight's stew. His stomach rumbled at he dialled.

"Wordsworth Curios, Eloise speaking."

"Mom, it's me."

"Daniel, what is it? I'm with a customer."

He explained in a rush about the man at the door. It came out in a jumble as he threw in something about the Debussy piece and the stew too, however as soon as he uttered the words _Alpert_ and _Richard_, he knew he had his mother's full attention.

"He's there? At the house?" She spoke in questions, however the sentences sounded like they could just as easily end with exclamation marks. He imagined her face was turning very red right now.

"Yes, he's waiting on the porch. I didn't let him in."

"Good boy," she said absentmindedly, and then quickly added, as if the thought just came to her, "Is he alone?"

"I think so."

"Good."

"Should I let him in?"

There was a long pause and Daniel didn't know if she was considering his question or merely caught up in her own thoughts. Finally his mother replied, and it came out in a long breathless sigh. "Give him some tea, the good kind in the back of the cupboard. I'll be home shortly."

"Who is he?"

She hesitated in her explanation and he expected something as vague as what Dr. Alpert had stated. She didn't give much more information than their surprise guest had, yet what she did offer was still a revelation to Daniel. "He's an old friend of mine," she said, "and your father's."

His father's? Daniel had never met anyone who knew his father, unless you counted his mother. This made Dr. Alpert a thousand times more interesting than he already was. Daniel hung up the phone without even saying good-bye; he wasn't even sure his mother had finished speaking. He sprinted through the kitchen and across the living room floor, skidding a little when he turned a corner. He opened the door to retrieve Dr. Alpert; he's still stood on the porch, undisturbed, looking like he had all the time in the world.

"Tea. I'm to give you tea."

Richard flashed him that secret smile again. "I would like some tea, thank you."

He held open the door, and Richard came inside. Daniel noticed the doctor looked around the living room in the same way one might look at objects in a museum, with great curiosity and amusement at seeing things so foreign. He could not imagine what Dr. Alpert might find strange about their house; it was like everyone else's.

"Is this Debussy?" Richard asked.

Daniel had forgotten about the record playing. He nodded, tongue tied, and suddenly very shy in the face of this man who had known his father. Daniel had a sudden urge to show Dr. Alpert the math test he had scored perfect on that morning or tell him about his idea for the _La Mer_ piano score. Instead he left the new father figure to put on the kettle, and waited in the kitchen until the tea was ready. Then he carefully carried out a cup and saucer and put it down on the low table in front of Richard.

The man took a sip. "Thank you, Daniel."

He found the courage to ask, "Did you really know my father?"

"I've known your parents since they were younger than you," he stated, and studied Daniel with certain gravity. "What do you know about your father?" His question was deliberately crafted to weed out what perhaps shouldn't be shared, but Daniel didn't notice.

"He liked horses and Greek myths."

These were two of the sparse details his mother had shared, which had given Daniel the impression that his father had resembled something along the lines of Alexander the Great. He wanted to add that he knew his father had been very good with money, which was why they lived in this nice house, and Daniel could go to science camp and have music lessons even though his mother only worked part-time. But he was aware it was not polite to talk about money, so he didn't mention this. There was also the fact that he had been named after his father's father, who died in the Second World War, and that of course, his own father had died in a terrible accident before Daniel was born.

That is how his mother always said it, "There was an incident." Whenever Daniel thought of this, he always imagined lots of blood and perhaps a smashed car. Whatever happened, his father had been lost to her, and she had left England to start over anew in America. When she referred to the time before Daniel was born, her face went neither red nor white, but grey, and Daniel was scared to ask for anymore details.

"And what do you like, Daniel?" Dr. Alpert asked.

He rather they talked more about his father and planned to ask Richard another question, when they were interrupted by his mother's sudden entrance. She appeared looking entirely composed, however that she made it from work to their house in less than ten minutes, a drive that normally took twice that time, revealed her urgency.

"Eloise."

"Richard."

Richard stood at her arrival. Daniel looked on, and waited to see what happened next. At first there was nothing, just cautious stares. Since he had recently studied metaphors and found them appealing, Daniel thought it would be appropriate to apply the statement from his grammar book, "You could cut the tension in the room with a knife," to the scene before him. If he was to try one himself, he might say that his mother and Dr. Alpert acted like a proton and a neutron that together produced an unravelling isotope.

"Daniel, go play in the park."

"I want to stay."

"Now!"

Daniel looked for an ally in Dr. Alpert, and found none. Reluctantly, he slowly put on his shoes, took his sweater from the coat rack, and shuffled out the front door. He stood on the porch and tried to exude the same patience Richard had before. Then his mother appeared in the window, and with a wave of her hand indicated Daniel was not to hang about. With a shrug of his shoulders, he thrust his hands in his pockets and made his way off the porch and down the driveway, fervently kicking at pebbles in his path.

Down the street a bunch of boys from his class played ball hockey. He watched them from afar with little hope he would be asked to join; his poor performance in gym class would not grant him an easy invitation. Nor would his classmates be inclined to take his advice about the angle they should shoot from; most of them grasped their sticks and slammed the ball in a way that mathematically guaranteed them to miss the net. As expected, they ignored Daniel, so he turned to look back at his house, wondering what could possibly be so important that his mother had come home from work early, and sent him where he could not see or hear.

It had to be about his father, he decided, and that conclusion immediately prompted him to double back. He cut through his neighbours' backyards, and awkwardly scrambled over a fence. Out of breath, Daniel leaned against the side of his house, worrying that perhaps his father's money had run out and there were going to be poor or maybe this man, Richard, wanted to marry his mother. He needed to know what they were discussing, so he decided to climb one of the densely leaved oaks whose branches tapped the roof on windy days and might grant Daniel entry into his bedroom window. Then he could scramble inside and listen at the top of the stairs. It was the type of hair brained scheme he saw boys perform on television and thought it was appropriate in this situation.

It was good his mother and Richard were so absorbed with their talk that they didn't notice Daniel's comical attempt to climb the tree. Three tries later, bark in his hair, and a nasty scrape down one arm, he managed to scale the trunk. For a moment he simply dangled from a branch and then used all his remaining energy to pull his body up. He lay there for a moment, his head pounded with the effort and his limbs shook as he hugged the branch with his entire body. Eventually he felt steady enough to continue and slowly crawled up the branch to his bedroom window. It made a large squeak when it opened, but his mother didn't appear to investigate. So he crept in and snuck down the hallway to the staircase. From the top, Daniel was able to make out their voices loud and clear, even if their conversation confused him entirely.

"Why now, Richard?" his mother asked with a voice full of accusation. Daniel wondered if she would have preferred Richard to have come earlier or later or not at all.

"I gave you time to settle into your new life."

"And you thought a decade might just do the trick." Annoyance traced each letter she spoke; there was another emotion under it that Daniel couldn't identify, something that made her voice shake.

"I can see that you've done your best to fit in here, Eloise. That couldn't have been easy. You were always very strong."

His mother's response was to scoff. Daniel knew when she did that her lips twisted in a nasty way. His ears pricked up when Richard continued, and mentioned his own name. "I've thought of you and Daniel often. I wanted to see for myself how you are doing."

"Don't you dare speak to me of Daniel."

"He's a lovely boy, winsome and bright."

"I certainly hope you were not plying him with your little tests before I arrived."

Tests? Daniel thought. Had Richard been sent here to test him? Did he know that Daniel's teachers wanted him to skip grades, and that his mother always held him back, saying it would be too difficult a transition?

"That would be…," Richard paused dramatically, "…unnecessary."

"And you're always so very sure about necessity, Richard. Speaking of which, did John Locke ever return?"

Richard responded in a clipped voice. "Not yet."

Daniel recalled John Locke was an old philosopher. He didn't understand the reference here and blamed that on history being his worst subject in school; he might even do better in gym. No matter how much he studied, Daniel had great trouble remembering the names of historic figures and what they did and when. His mother always said not to worry, history was in the past, and it was more relevant to think about the future. She was not mad when History stood out as a C on his report card which was otherwise full of As.

"So does your visit serve any point or did you just happen to be in the neighbourhood?"

"How are you preparing Daniel?"

"Preparing him?"

"Before you left, you insisted things could still be changed. I'm curious to know how you are proceeding."

"You can see that very well with your own eyes. Everything I do here is a form of course correction. This quiet life will never give Daniel a reason to go to the island."

From his perch on the stairs, Daniel thought hard what she meant by _island_. The word was spoken with a capital _I_, as if that was the landmass' only name. Did his mother mean England?

"Do you truly think that is the wisest course?"

"Why else would I be doing it?"

"Wouldn't it be safer to guide him to the knowledge he'll need to know and together you could work to find a solution. The Daniel I knew was a very clever man and I believe he was close to understanding the role variables play in course correction. If only we had more time, we might have been better suited to apply his theories."

Now Daniel was confused because they were not speaking of him at all but of a man, maybe his grandfather?

"He is gifted, I admit," his mother said, "but to treat him so would expose him. Daniel is not being groomed to ever know the information found in his journal. It is my job to protect him, not prepare him."

"His father thought otherwise."

"His father also thought it would be best to make a fresh start with a new family."

Richard's unease showed in his voice. "Ah, you know about that."

"It's not my concern anymore. It should be yours. He can't be here and there, and still have the island's best interests at heart. You were right about him all along."

"I've taken care of it, or will do soon."

His mother cackled like a witch. The sound sent a shiver up Daniel's spine. "When? Once your new protégé comes of age? How old is Benjamin Linus now?"

"Eloise, I'm here today about Daniel, not old grudges. Course correction works in mysterious ways. Unless we can understand it better, we'll never know if there is a way to create a new course. We've seen the lengths it takes to put things right, such as with LaFleur and his people, and consider the casualties in that case."

"We're far away from all that here."

"If leaving the island were enough, you and I would no longer hold a memory from that awful day."

There was a solemn pause, and Daniel guessed they must be thinking about the incident that killed his father. Nevertheless he doesn't know what to make of this other Daniel and course correcting and casualties and a father who is talked about in the third person, as if dead and gone, but there was also a mention of him having another family. The information sent his mind reeling round and round and all this new information became jumbled in his head, much like they did on a history test.

"I don't think I could ever forget," his mother said, her voice unusually soft.

Richard's voice had also softened. "I fear if you deviate too much from what is expected, the course will overcompensate in return. For example, it might take you from Daniel. That would leave him with no guide and no hope that he won't find himself where we left him. He needs someone to ground him, and that can only be you."

"If you're speaking of his theory of constants, I'm not that person. That's some coal miner's son, not much older than Daniel. Yes Richard, I found Desmond Hume. Do not accuse me of ignoring things. I've looked at the options, and this is the one I've chosen. I'm his mother, not you or Jacob or—" There was a clattering of dishes, and his mother cursed. Daniel thought Richard's tea cup fell off the table.

"Eloise, Ellie." There was a long silence before Richard spoke again. "You have been burdened with a responsibility that outweighs anything I have ever known. I am truly sorry for how everything turned out."

Daniel wondered if his mother's silence was her response, but finally she replied, "Thank you."

There was a bit more conversation that trailed off into what adults classified as small talk. Then there were footsteps and Daniel could tell his mother was showing Richard out.

Before the man departed, he asked, "Would you like me to pass on a message?"

"There is nothing to say."

"Very well."

"You can do one thing for me, Richard."

"What is that?"

"Before I left, I planted flowers…on Daniel's grave. You know those bright orange ones."

"You said they reminded you of the girl he loved."

"Yes, well, can you just make sure they're always there, and taken care of?"

"Of course."

There were no formal good-byes. The only indication Daniel had that Richard left is the soft click of the door. This was immediately followed by the Debussy record finishing, almost suggesting the man had timed his visit like a symphony. Daniel sat huddled, knees to his chest, on the top step and thought about how he should move, less his mother found him snooping. The point was lost when she called up, "Come down, Daniel. I know you've been listening."

He obeyed, and felt proud and shamed at being caught. "Who was that, really?"

Daniel's mother sat on the sofa in the spot Richard had vacated; one hand was draped across her brow. "Richard is like an antique; ancient and beautiful and very easily cracked. He's never made much sense." She sighed and patted the empty cushion beside her. "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

Daniel didn't know where to begin. His mother looked worn out from Richard's visit and he was afraid to ask anything that might trouble her further, but he also didn't want to let this opportunity be wasted. He perched on the edge of the sofa. "Can you tell me something else about my father? Something I don't already know."

Her reply was short and simple, "He spoke Latin." Daniel held this fact to his heart and buried it among the few others that resided there. Something stirred in him when she added, "You were his Magnum opus."

Three days later, Daniel's mother informed him that he must quit the piano. He was certain this odd request was linked to Dr. Alpert's mysterious visit.

x x x

_**Magnum opus II**_**(1992)**

As promised, Eloise brought Daniel to England in the summer between his freshman and sophomore year at Harvard. They started in the north and travelled south, making stops at notable historic sites, galleries and museums. Having not set foot here since her pre-island days, Eloise felt just as much the tourist as Daniel, but since she classified life as either _the island_ or simply not/i, she didn't see the vast cultural differences between here and America that Daniel did. Amusedly, he puzzled over the Brits' different words for things, the opposite side driving direction, and all the variations on familiar cooking, in the same way he did a string of mathematic equations.

They spent three weeks in Oxford so Daniel could attend a summer school workshop given by an eminent Swiss physicist. At fifteen he was the youngest student in the course, and when it was over, he phoned Harvard and asked if he could add physics to his major in math. Eloise smiled tightly when he reported the Registrar approved the change.

They hit London in August, at the height of the tourist season. To avoid crowds, Eloise had planned a careful itinerary that combined places off the beaten path with those which would prove useful to Daniel's education: The Alex Fleming Laboratory Museum, The Croydon Natural History and Scientific Society Museum, The Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, and the Science Museum. One afternoon on their way to the latter, they walked by the office tower containing the head office of Widmore Industries. Five minutes later, Eloise stopped to vomit in the toilet of a nearby café.

Two months ago, Charles's fifteen minutes of fame had dominated the news. _Child Castaway Found Forty Year Later! Amnesiac Claims to be Heir to Widmore Fortune! DNA tests prove Lost Son's Identity!_ These articles were always accompanied by photos of a young Charles dressed in short pants and a much older Charles dressed in a three thousand dollar suit, and of course, ones of Charles with his rosy cheeked wife, Matilda and his similarly blushing daughter, Penelope. It was all horrifying sensational and absolutely in character. Upon seeing their shared past completely erased, Eloise had one thought; only Charles could manufacture a brand new history and not only make the entire world believe it, but fall at his feet in awe.

It went like this: In 1942 a young boy was found washed up on the shores of Capetown with no memory of who he was beyond the name, Charles Widmore. It was the war, so understandably it had proved impossible to track down his identity, he explained to the press. Charles had been raised by kindly foster parents who were produced for the cameras and whose bright smiles and nostalgic stories had undoubtedly been paid for with a generously bribe.

Eventually the young foundling became a man and travelled to England where he made a fortune investing in gold and silver. In 1978, he married his accountant, a plain woman of good breeding and an agreeable personality. Matilda didn't mind or question her new husband's frequent travels, supposedly in the pursuit of new investments, because soon she had a daughter to busy herself with. Then this year, not long after Charles made his first million, he 'remembered' where he came from, and reconnected with his surviving birth family. Not inconsequentially, his wealth doubled over night as he inherited part of his family's considerable riches. Only a man in exile would craft such a desperate lie, Eloise concluded. Charles's scramble for legitimacy in this world was proof Jacob had finally banished him from the island, once and for all.

Eloise told herself taking Daniel to England now had nothing to do with his father's fulltime return. If she had wanted to see Charles over the years, she would have caught him on one of his frequent visits off island. No, she was here so Daniel could get familiar with England and therefore, when he did his predicted postgraduate work at Oxford later, he would be comfortable. It was all part of the chain of preparations she had made since Richard's visit five years ago, when Eloise became slowly convinced that hiding Daniel from his destiny was the cowardly way out. Although it had nearly killed her to do so, since then she had steered Daniel toward the knowledge acquirement he needed to hopefully change everything for both of them. Visiting England was just as important as sending him to private school, fast tracking him through high school, and securing his early enrolment at Harvard.

As expected Daniel had thrived in a rigorous academic environment. Not only did he absorb lessons quickly, he was constantly developing his own theories. In grade seven he had rebuilt the school's high energy particle telescope, increasing its resolution by fourteen percent. A year later he improved it another six percent. When he was thirteen, he had conducted an experiment with a classmate on nanotechnologies and their uses at the atomic and molecular level. Their findings were published in journal sponsored by the Institute of Molecular Manufacturing. Last year, his research paper for a biology course entitled, 'Gene Therapy, Radiation and Theories on Aging' had won the Newton Award, a prize normally given to an established scholar. When he was not at school, Daniel could be found with his nose in a book or standing in front of the blackboard Eloise had mounted on his bedroom wall, rolling a piece of chalk between his fingers as he worked out an idea.

Despite being convinced she was doing the right thing, every so often Eloise experienced a pang of guilt about her choice. Usually it occurred when she saw her son look longingly at the unused dusty piano she had not the heart to give away or when he made a remark about what a beautiful day it was, before he scurried off to study. So when Daniel suggested visiting the London Zoo instead of attending a speaker series at the British Library, she agreed.

They set off together one grey morning, and her heart couldn't help but warm over his delight at watching kangaroos frolic and gorillas beat their chests. When he nibbled on some candied popcorn, she thought she could actually see his brain slow down. As they watched a film in the aquarium about jellyfish, she found herself reaching out and stroking the hair which had grown over his collar. It had gotten longer since he started college; she found it still as soft as it had been when he was a baby. All throughout the film, Eloise had looked sideways at her son and saw a boy at the cusp of manhood, teetering on the edge of innocence. She would have liked very much to freeze him in that very moment forever.

An hour later, when they were visiting the Malaysian tiger exhibit, it felt like time had indeed froze. From across the enclosure, Eloise caught sight of a face she hadn't seen for fifteen years. In the almost permanent summer drizzle, the image appeared much like one of the Impressionist paintings they had seen at The Courtauld Institute yesterday, watery and vague, and absolutely a recreation, rather than the real thing. Charles Widmore stood not twenty feet away, gesturing with a closed umbrella to the young girl at his side. Most likely he was telling his daughter that he once wrestled a tiger; it was likely chapter seventeen in the Wondrous Adventures of the Amazing Charles Widmore, part Huck Finn, part Mowgli.

His appearance here seemed just as fictional. Charles was dressed in jeans and some sort of rugby jersey. Eloise couldn't help stifle a laugh. The expensive tailored suits she had seen him photographed in were very Charles, but this looked like a vulgar attempt at playing 'dad'. Next she turned her sharp eyes on the girl beside him. Penelope had an earnest smile that appeared a little forced as she endured her father's rambling. She would be a real beauty one day, but for now she remained perched on the awkward slope of early adolescence that Daniel himself had yet to shed. The poor thing suffered from an unfortunate frizzy perm, which Eloise thought snidely, was probably the worst fate she would ever experience.

She stiffened when Penelope's gaze drifted away from the sleepy tigers and momentarily fell on Eloise and Daniel. In that moment, Eloise had a startling realization. It had been a decade and a half since she lost the visions that had started and ended with her pregnancy. In the end, she had determined they had only served to act as a reminder that the future appeared to already be written. So she had packed them away, out of mind, out of sight. In the days and nights after Daniel's birth, one particular flash lingered longer than the rest. It came to her when she paced the halls of her newly purchased house with Daniel's tiny lump of a body swaddled in her arms, and no lullabies in her voice.

The vision had been of a hollowed-eyed woman pacing the floor of a hospital, clutching a toddler to her chest. When the child, Eloise could never tell if it was a boy or girl, raised their crown of curls, she could see the woman's blouse had been stained with blood. It was not hers or the child's, but belonged to someone well loved, presumably the child's father. Thinking of this old memory now, Eloise was quite certain that woman, that mother, was Penelope Widmore. Perhaps the girl's path won't be so easy after all, she reconsidered.

When Eloise cleared her head of this thought, she noticed Charles had finally seen and recognized them. Except he was not looking at her; his eyes were glued on their son. Meanwhile Daniel leaned against the railing, engrossed in the tigers, blissfully oblivious to the past and future that stalked him. Without any acknowledgement, Charles tugged his daughter away and disappeared into the crowds. A minute later, Eloise left with Daniel, a vacant triumph lurked inside her that Charles had been the one to run this time.

Of course, Charles was never very good at letting things lie, so Eloise primed herself for his reappearance. That same day, close to midnight, he knocked on her hotel room door. Meanwhile Daniel lay in his bed in the adjoining room, still awake, but busy as he considered the difference between theories of evolution and creation, a thought spawned by the zoo visit and a conversation with his mother about the similarities in primate and human DNA. As before, Daniel was unaware of the history igniting so close to him, though if he knew, his thoughts on faith versus science would still be appropriate.

"Charles."

"Eloise."

They began with the simple acknowledgement of each other's identity. It gave them something to say as they took a moment to gather themselves and look each other over. Thankfully, Eloise noted, Charles had changed out of his silly zoo clothes and was now wearing casual slacks and a shirt, perhaps purposely like the ones he had worn back on the island. Meanwhile she had remained in her usual uniform of skirt, blouse and sensible shoes, hair curled in a bun, appropriate for someone pretending to be a respectable mother, not an assassin.

"You really are something…," Charles announced. He remained in the doorway of her hotel room unable to cross the threshold until officially welcome. She waved him in, and he brushed passed her.

"Nice to see you too."

"No, I mean it." He looked around her hotel suite, and placed a paper bag on the dresser. "For so long, you have only been a memory. It's strange to see you in the flesh."

His use of the word flesh annoyed her. It brought to her mind long nights that smelled like canvass, sweat and desire. "I don't see why this is news to you. You can't have thought I've been on the other side of the island this entire time."

He cleared his throat. "Knowing and seeing are two different things."

With Charles's words, with his very presence, Eloise couldn't help see, just as if it happened yesterday, a frantic man point a gun at Richard, and a minute later knowing that man was her son. Of course in her memories, she always saw that frantic man as Daniel from the beginning and so was knowing and seeing all at once. To get this image out of her head, she focused on the mundane. "Would you like a drink?"

"I came prepared." Charles pulled a bottle out of the bag, and filled two glasses with an amber liquid. They sat together at a table by the window with the curtains drawn, the London landscape shut to them. There was nothing to toast to, so she took her glass from him and drank the scotch immediately. It was obviously expensive and therefore soothed rather than burned her throat.

"Did Penelope enjoy the zoo today?"

Charles looked like he was about to chastise her flippancy, then changed his mind at the last minute and went for honesty. "Not really. She's at the age where being seen with her father is becoming an embarrassment."

"It is probably an adjustment for her, to have her father around all the time now."

"Sometimes I don't think she or her mother noticed I was gone."

"Poor Charles, it must have been so difficult to manage a secret identity. CEO/father by day, tribal leader/island son by night. I hope you collected frequent flyer miles."

"Yes, yes, let's get all your taunts out now, Ellie." Apparently some distance, geographic or otherwise, has bestowed Charles enough of a sense of humour to snort. "I'm here now because I can't be there. But you have to admit, I lasted longer than you thought."

She tipped her glass to him, and now it was her turn to be honest. "I'll give you that."

When she left the island, she explained to their community that Charles would in charge until she returned. She had suspected this decision might have prompted Richard to orchestrate a coup within days. He probably would have done so even if she had stayed. Most likely it was only Benjamin Linus's youth that kept Charles around so long. Or maybe, she considered with some generosity, Charles had grown into his leadership in a way that was impossible under her shadow.

"What was the status with Dharma before you left?" She was polite and didn't used terms like banished or exiled.

"Vanquished, all but the children. It was a hell of a coronation for Linus."

"Really?" The thought of Dharma gone from their shores for good should have made Eloise feel something: regret, guilt, victory, relief, anything. Instead she felt nothing, like the event had happened to some dinky third world country she knew nothing about. "I would have thought the little mite would have wanted to build on the peace and love dogma of his people."

"He's a lot more blood thirsty than he appears."

"Aren't we all," she drawled, and rolled the base of her tumbler back and forth across the table.

Charles searched for a response at the bottom of his empty glass. When he found none, he poured them each a second drink. "It's really because of Dharma that I'm here."

"Is it?" Eloise couldn't hold back the surprise in her voice. She was certain Charles had come so as to torture her about the past, and ask if not why she had left the island, then why she had not invited him with her.

In the days following Daniel's death, they had barely spoken, let alone looked at each other. The combined results of their aborted plans, hers at The Swan and his at The Orchid, had only resulted in sending the time travellers, all except for Daniel's corpse, to some another time, perhaps from where they came. After this, a raging Charles had set off to confront the illusive and aloof Jacob and demand answers, and threatened to go to his unnamed other half if ignored. In his absence, she had told Richard she was going away for a while to meditate. She suspected Richard had seen through her lie immediately, and his lack of resistance, no knocking her unconscious this time, proved there was no reason to stay. So she had taken their sailboat and headed for Fiji where she emptied one of Charles's bank accounts. By the time her pregnancy was showing, she was living in Massachusetts and painting Daniel's nursery a shade of apple green never found in the jungle.

Through the years, Eloise had often rationalized her choice to leave alone as what Charles always wanted, an opportunity for him to lead her in place. That he never came after her seemed proof of this. After all, while she had not given Daniel the Widmore name, she had not changed hers, and she continued to dip into Charles's accounts from time to time. If he wanted to find her, he could have just followed the money trail, which ironically was probably neatly documented by his accountant wife. Deep down Eloise really knew he had stayed for the same reason she had left, pure terror at facing what was to come. It was the same reason Charles must have married so soon after. As always, he liked to have something to fall back on, be it money or a second chance at fatherhood.

"Sorry, what about Dharma?" she asked.

"I'm sure by now Linus has had the Mittelos people take over Dharma's off island properties. The tiny bastard has some scheme to keep up the Dharma front, so as to get a source of income and free supplies for the island." Charles rolled his eyes, and then removed a folded document from his breast pocket. "Days before I was deposed, so to speak, I had the foresight to erase the records of one property from all of Horace's files because I thought it might be useful for you."

He handed Eloise the paper. It contained ten words written in Charles's sloping script. There was a Los Angeles address and beside that were the words, The Lamp Post, presumably another preciously named Dharma station. She looked up to him, bewildered.

"It's where Chang's research began and how they originally identified the island's location. I thought you might find something there…for Daniel." Charles folded and unfolded his hands and settled for pouring another drink, which this time he did not raise to his lips. "I planned to bring this to you, but then fate brought us together in another way."

Eloise refolded the paper and left it on the table. She had done this alone for so long, she was not sure what to do with shared optimism of any kind. "It wasn't fate, it was Daniel. He wanted to go to the zoo today."

"He…How is he?"

"He's brilliant." She meant brilliant in all its meanings, not only his great intelligence. There was something glorious about her son's, their son's soul. It shone so intensely that she imagined Daniel was sometimes burned by its brilliance, and that explained his quiet, gentle uncertainty at times. Maybe this was how all mothers felt about their children, or maybe just those who had lived with such twinned regret and hope. Of course, there were no other mothers just like her.

He eyes wandered to the closed adjoining door. "I wonder, could you arrange another meeting?"

She spoke plainly. "He thinks you're dead."

Charles did a good, though not complete job at hiding how her statement wounded him. "What about something impersonal, like another zoo trip?We could pretend we're just old friends."

"I don't think so." She had not denied Charles his request out of cruelty, but frankly it was impossible. Even if Eloise wanted them to have met, she didn't think she could pull off a masquerade where Daniel would not guess who Charles really was. She was quite certain after Richard's visit, Daniel suspected of her story (or lack thereof) about his father, only he was too considerate of her feelings to bring it up.

"I see." Charles stood and stared at the hotel furnishings. "I should go. It's late."

"It's very late," she agreed, meaning something else entirely.

Charles surveyed the hotel room as if looking for something he had misplaced and couldn't leave without. Eloise guessed it might be his dignity or maybe his guard or perhaps a piece of him foreign to her. She imagined this lost expression was not only connected to her and Daniel but crossed his face frequently, ever since his exile and reinvention. She felt like saying, will the real Charles Widmore please stand up, then thought twice. Eloise realized this was the real Charles Widmore, just a version stripped of all the false promises that came attached with prophecies.

"I should go," he repeated, and she led him to the door he seemed unable to find on his own.

She almost felt compelled to thank him for the address he gave her, however gratitude was not something she had ever learned to express, at least not openly, and certainly not to Charles. But even she felt there needed to be more ceremony here, at least more than their placid greeting earlier. So Eloise planted a kiss on a cheek softened with age and disappointment. She gave it not out of gratitude or love, but out of what had passed and what was still to come. In return, he offered a tender smile and left before he thought she noticed his wet eyes.


	6. Homecoming

**Part 6 – Homecoming (2003)**

From the outside, Warneford Hospital looked like a nineteenth century country manor, except where a lavish garden should be, an asphalt parking lot dominated. The taxi let Eloise off by a row of ambulances. A lone man leaned against one of the columns marking the entrance. He was smoking, or rather gripping a cigarette between two shaky fingers that appeared not to have the strength to reach his lips. His glazed eyes saw right through her. As she brushed by, Eloise was surprised to note he wore a stethoscope around his neck; she had presumed he was a resident. If the staff appeared so worn and fragile, Eloise shuddered to think in what condition she would find her son.

Inside, Warneford had none of the bustle found in a regular hospital. Silence reined the halls, and a bevy of closed doors suggested patients were not meant to be seen or heard, and were doing a splendid job at that. A receptionist handed Eloise a visitor's pass and told her Dr. Faraday could be found in room 108.

Since the only official diagnosis given to her for Daniel's condition had been "exhaustion", Eloise expected to find her son lying down. Instead she discovered room 108 was the library, and found him sitting in an armchair by the window, reading. The sunlight shone in, lighting his pale features, and giving him a healthy glow. The only initial signs that Eloise had not stumbled upon him at home were the IV in his arm and the blanket on his lap. In a library, the hospital's quiet did not seem so odd. Around Daniel, other patients read or at least looked at the books and magazines in front on them. Still, it was unnerving to see Daniel so still.

Normally a visit with her son was akin to watching a juggler try out a new act. While Eloise would wait for the tea he promised, Daniel would dart about his flat, searching for an article buried under a pile of paperwork, feeding his collection of rodents, checking his e-mail, recording a calculation whose sum suddenly came to him, texting that assistant girl, sorting the clean from the dirty clothes housed in a pile by his bed, and stopping every so often to add a comment to a student's paper. Then the tea would be in her hands, and a variation on the routine would start all over again. She assumed this balancing act was because his body needed to keep as brisk a pace as his mind, and he was surprisingly graceful in his movements.

Now he sat a little slumped, brow furrowed, completely engrossed in his book, which Eloise was disturbed to note was a children's story. He didn't look up as she approached.

"Hello Daniel."

Daniel looked to her with faint recognition, the way one saw strangers on the tube and could know just a little about their lives by the way they carried themselves; perhaps that's how patients regarded each other at Warneford too, she thought, eying the other residents. But there was no true knowing in his gaze, none of the usual eager tenderness he showed when seeing her or the more recent flashes of resentment he thought he hid from her.

She sank into the empty chair across from him. "Daniel, do you know who I am?"

His furrow intensified, along with the frustrated stare. Eloise was immediately reminded of a time when she had once looked upon her son and saw no one but an intruder.

'I'm your mother."

"Did…." Daniel wet his lips before he spoke again. He held up the book. "Did you read me this when I was young?"

Eloise could barely take her eyes off Daniel, but she glanced at the book in his hands. Pictured on the cover was a pigtailed girl holding a pig. It didn't look like anything she would have read to him, even before, when they did read books just for fun.

"_Charlotte's Web_? I don't think so." She swallowed. "Is it a good book?" She spoke carefully, like one might do to a frightened child or invalid, and she guessed Daniel was both right now.

"I don't know," he said, laying the paperback on his lap. Then Daniel clutched it again because it appeared he didn't like to leave his hands empty. "Did they tell you what happened?"

"I got a call from the Vice-Chancellor," she stated, not knowing if it would be wise to bring up Daniel's dismissal from Oxford or the girl. Perhaps the less he remembered the better. As it was, her vague remark conjured up a look of shame. Daniel's eyes fluttered from her to the ceiling and back to her, and with that gesture came some recognition of who she was.

He thumb tapped the space between his eyebrows. "I knew better."

"What's done is done," she said, trying to sound chipper, but Daniel's wounded look gave her pause. Here he was thinking the worst had happened, however she knew this was merely a cool breeze in the face of a coming hurricane. "All great scientific leaps require risk. For Oxford not to realize that is their great loss. We'll get you well again, and then you can continue your work elsewhere."

"It's too dangerous."

Eloise brushed off this remark. She saw healing his confidence would be just as great a problem as healing his mind. "I have an appointment with your doctors later."

For the first time since she had arrived, Daniel's face lit up with what could only be described as life. He leaned forward and clasped each of her forearms. "They won't let me see her, but you could make it happen."

Eloise pretended she didn't know what he meant. "Who?"

"I need to see Theresa."

"I don't think that's possible, not now."

If Eloise had thought that woman had been a distraction for Daniel in the past, the potential now had tripled. From what she had heard, Theresa was at a hospital in Hampstead where she was being treated for radiation poisoning, which apparently was the least of her problems. The poor girl had minimal brain activity, and would most likely spend the rest of her life in a facility where there was no need for libraries, only beds.

"Please mother, I need to see her. I could help her."

She did not doubt everything Daniel said was correct, but she could not let Theresa become his next research project. She had gone too far not to see this through to the end.

"Her family has requested there be no contact. Naturally they are very upset with you right now," she lied and watched Daniel shrivel with grief before her very eyes. The chair, his robe, and even his blanket dwarfed him, and the silly book slid from his hands to the floor. "We're lucky the Spencer family is not suing you."

Daniel stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. Her eyes darted to the nearest exit, wondering if it would be easier to leave him on the brink or witness him breakdown. But Daniel didn't cry, and instead a strange calm came over him, and he smiled dreamily at her. "I was swimming in the ocean."

"I'm sorry?"

"In the lab, I went forward. Theresa went back, but I went forward."

Eloise leaned in. It was her turn to place her hands on Daniel's. "To when?"

"The future, not too far away from now, I guess."

Eloise tried to swallow but her throat had closed. "Were you on an island?"

"Maybe? The water was so warm."

Excitement tingled just out of her reach. An apex was ahead, the point of no return. She even knew the near date when it would happen. According to the version of Daniel's journal that belonged to her, eighteen months from now, he would board a search and rescue freighter. Of course, his current predicament threw that timeline into question. Was this her sign to stop pushing him? Or was the incident at Oxford and his subsequent memory loss only part of the necessary equation?

Regardless, it was coming close to the time where she might have to stop everything. As easily as she had steered him on a course and fought to keep him on the proper path, she could still ensure he did not reach his destination. When she choose to follow Richard's advice, Eloise had always promised herself that if Daniel did not appear to have anymore answers than he did in 1977, then she would just prevent him from ever having a means to step foot on the island.

"Did you see other people in your travelling?" Eloise thought of his first companions, the Chinese man and the redheaded woman.

He rubbed his eyes. "You were on the beach, watching me."

"I was there?" That was unexpected. She had not realized she might be the one to lead him back home so directly. There had been no mention of her presence in his journal entries about the freighter trip. Was this a sign the course had been changed or merely another part of the story unknown to her? "Me, as I appear now?"

He cocked his head and looked at her; she could almost feel him take in her silver hair and spotted hands. "That's how I was sure I went forward." Then he hesitated; his next words seem to hang in his mouth, and she thought perhaps the conversation had grown too much for him.

"Daniel, it's all right."

"You were with a man. He called me, 'Son'." He said this so matter of fact, that Eloise did not expect such a direct follow-up. "My father is alive, isn't he?"

This was the question she had never known how to respond to. For a moment Eloise tried to picture what Daniel had seen, this strange idea of a family unit. All she could imagine was a tree that sprouted several broken branches. To speak in Daniel's terms, Charles was a variable she had no way of controlling. Yes, he had been helpful in recent years by funding Daniel's research and had abided by her terms to keep his distance, but she was certain she couldn't trust Charles to always put Daniel's interests first. But it was more than that, she had to admit. A part of her just didn't want to share Daniel with anyone. From the moment she first felt the life inside her, to the moment she snuffed it out without a thought, he was hers, and hers alone, and she meant to have him as long as she could, all to herself.

Her lack of an immediate response seemed to be an answer enough for Daniel. He closed his eyes, shutting her out. She shifted uncomfortably in the too soft chair, torn between wanting to give him an answer and wanting to protect him from all the history that came with his paternity. In the end Daniel saved her from doing anything. When he opened his eyes, they went wide and took far too many seconds to focus. As Daniel took in his surroundings, he asked with some hope, "Are you my doctor?"

"No Daniel, I'm your mother."

He looked away, embarrassed. His hands twitched in his lap. "My mother is supposed to visit today."

Eloise knew she should stay, coddle his memory back, but she let her fear of returning to the subject of fathers override her duty. She decided to take the opportunity to leave, so she stood, smoothing her skirt. "I'll come back later, when you're feeling better."

He did not appear to hear her words. All his attention had gone to the needle stuck in the back of his hand. He picked at the tape holding it in place and scratched around it. His distraction seemed almost a deliberate avoidance of her. She scrutinized his innocence, wondering if perhaps his latest lapse was an act to give them both a reason not to consider the question he had left hanging. Eloise quickly dismissed this assessment. Unlike his parents, Daniel was not very adept at deception. Plus that vague hollow look he had worn when she arrived had returned. She was almost tempted to mention Theresa and see if that would bring any spark back to him.

"Well now," Eloise fiddled with her purse strap, noticing her fidgeting matched Daniel's, and she was compelled to return him to stillness before she left. Eloise bent down and picked up the storybook he had been enjoying when she came in. She placed it in his chilled hands, giving him something tangible to hold. He accepted the book, but regarded it the same way he did her, like it was foreign to him. She opened it to a random page. "Why don't you find your place, and finish your story. I'll see you tomorrow."

Then she left, forcing herself to walk and not run or rather scurry away. His voice, all quivers and queries, stopped her.

"Are you going to take me home?"

Eloise swallowed hard and turned around. She offered him the brightest smile possible. "That was the idea all along."

x x x

**2008**

Desmond Hume was a lucky man. Certainly one could produce a long list of examples, including his recent hospitalization, to argue the exact opposite. After all, one might not normally consider his staring role in frequent bouts of imprisonment and brawls, shipwrecks, and moments where his mind took flight backward and forward as being particularly blessed events. Eloise disagreed, and she thought Desmond might also view his continued existence after each of these disasters, not to mention his own wilful lack of common sense, as a testament to his good fortune. In addition to mere survival (or perhaps the secret to it), he also managed to remained beloved. Really, he was something to marvel and envy, which is why Eloise thought nothing of calling on the Hume family once more.

On the other hand, Charles was a reluctant companion of the highest order. Not even the idea of seeing his daughter and grandson could wipe away the permanent grimness that lined his face. For a good five minutes, he sat in the parked car with his hands locked on the steering wheel; his gaze sat straight ahead, giving all the concentration one might if they were navigating a particularly steep mountain road in a snowstorm.

"Might I remind you, this was your idea?" Eloise stated, hoping that a voice full of accusation might bait him into moving. It didn't work, and Charles remained steeped with inaction.

Enough was enough. There was no time to placate him with reassurances. Flight 316 had been missing for twenty-four hours. Forgetting for a moment that thirty years separated them, that meant three days from now, Shephard and Austen would guide Daniel to the hostile's camp. Three days from now, she would kill Daniel. It appeared nothing she had done over the course of his life had prevented that terrible act from occurring. And now Desmond Hume was their last hope, and when it came to back-up plans, it was one of Charles's poorest. Desmond may be lucky, but reliable, he was not.

"Are you coming?" she asked, reaching for the door handle. Once again, Charles made no movement to join her or even acknowledge their destination. So with a weighty sigh, she exited the vehicle alone.

In downtown Los Angeles, the weather had been muggy; here at the marina it was several degrees cooler. A strong wind caught her silk scarf and sent it flying off her shoulders and across the parking lot like an overgrown butterfly. Eloise felt she should give chase, after all it had been a gift from Daniel, but she found herself content to let it go, or was rather too tired to collect it. She turned toward the dock, when she heard Charles's door close. Suddenly he was beside her, scarf in hand. She accepted his mute chivalry without word, and together they walked side by side down the plank steps, and through the labyrinth of boats until they came to _Our Mutual Friend_.

Eloise's first impression was that boats were very poor places to raise a child. She understood the challenging mechanics of sailing, and believed it would be an incredible nuisance to mind a child amid jiggers and sails and stormy seas. And certainly two pairs of eyes were not enough to ensure a small body did not fall overboard, not to mention guard against a cold or flu finding the boy miles away from medical care. Of course, it was merely an observation, not a criticism, as she knew how unfair it would be for her to offer parenting advice to anyone.

Charles cleared his throat. "It doesn't appear they're home."

The deck was deserted and no lights came from below. "It wouldn't surprise me if they're asleep. Desmond was just released today, and neither Penelope nor the boy could have got much rest since the shooting." She saw relief in Charles's face and knew her comment would provoke him to suggest they return later. "Oh, like they'd be any happier to see us if we didn't interrupted naptime. Come on."

Eloise was not sure if there was any etiquette to announcing one's presence before boarding a boat. They did not come equipped with doorbells or knockers. So she simply hoisted herself up the stairs and onto the deck. The shuffle behind her suggested Charles had followed suit.

"Hello?" Her voice came out not much above a whisper, which suggested Charles was not the only reluctant visitor at heart. Still, her call provoked some notice and a few seconds later a mop of curls appeared from below followed by a sweet face. She could hear Charles intake of air as his grandson appeared. After the dramatic events little Charlie must have witnessed in the last few days, Eloise was not surprised the boy appeared nonplussed by the strangers' appearances. His only reaction was to stick his thumb in his mouth and slump a little against the steps.

Charles found his voice, and uttered the words he had wanted to for years. "Is your mummy home?"

"Charlie, come back down!

Charles words fell on top of his daughter's, which Eloise noted were edged with delicate panic. Presumably they had been spotted from the docks, and Charlie had ruined his parents' plan to hide. Penelope appeared, took Charlie by the hand, and stopped short when she saw the intruders. It was Eloise's turn to be surprised when the woman's only response to seeing them was relief.

"Please, I need your help," Penelope pleaded.

Charles was at his daughter's side in an instant, and Eloise followed the three of them below deck. There was no time to process the unexpected invite, except to pass the thought that something seriously wrong must have happened to allow it. This idea bloomed when they came to the bedroom to find Desmond slumped against the floor. He lay on his side, eyes open, breathing shallowly, but his state could not be called conscious. His lips moved, yet no sound was being made, and his eyes flickered like they were in REM sleep. His wounded arm lolled in a sling, and someone had put a pillow under his head. Eloise noted the white pillowcase was dotted with spots of red, as was the cloth in Penelope's hands.

"What happened? Did Linus return?" Charles spoke with an urgency she had not heard since the island.

Penelope put Charlie down in his crib and went to her husband's side. She gently dabbed Desmond's bloody nose with the cloth. She looked up to them with expectation. She did not look like the type to wring her hands easily, but she did just that. "Do you know what's happening to him?"

Eloise and Charles exchanged fruitless looks. "How long has he been like this?" Charles asked.

"He's been in and out for about thirty minutes. At first I thought he was sleepwalking, but—" She stopped speaking as she noticed her husband's attention shifted. She touched his temple gingerly. "Des, are you back?"

He raised his head roughly an inch off the pillow and locked his eyes on his wife's. "Penny?"

"Yes, I'm here. You're here. You're safe."

Desmond found the energy to lift his head further. "Charlie?"

"Charlie's here too. See he's in his bed." Desmond lay down again, and closed his eyes. Penny's voice rang shrill. "Stay with me! Stay with us!"

His eyed fluttered open again. "I'm here." He took several deep breathes, as did Penelope. "I think it's over."

Penelope cupped his face, drawing her nose to his. She said tightly through gritted teeth, "Don't ever do that again!"

"I'm sorry, Pen. I had to."

She stroked his hair, mixing her worry with affection. "I know, I know."

They kissed, and Eloise squirmed under the intimacy. Suddenly her choice to be here felt very wrong. Lucky or not, this little family did not deserve further intrusion. Perhaps it was best that she and Charles slipped away, leaving their visit only a fragment of Desmond's apparent madness.

Penelope tucked her hands under Desmond's good shoulder, drawing him up. Charles went to help her, but she blocked her father and did it herself. When she had positioned Desmond on their bed, sitting up against the pillows, she stated, "They're here Des, just like you said they would be."

"I have a message for you," Desmond wheezed, as he gave his nose a final wipe. He drank water from a glass on the bedside. Penny held up a bottle of pills, but he waved them away. "I'm fine, love."

"Des, you don't have to do this now. They can come back." Penny eyed her father with deep suspicion. Even though Charlie was playing quietly in his crib, she picked him up and held him close. He squirmed in her hold; Eloise saw the Penelope needed to her arms to be an extra layer of protection between her son and her uninvited guests.

"You have a message for us?" Charles asked.

Desmond nodded. "From your son."

Those words forced Charles into the furthest corner of the room, where he sought comfort from the walls. Eloise decided she needed to sit, and seeing the only place to do so was the floor or the bed, perched as near the edge of the bed she could.

"How is that possible?" Eloise asked.

"It happened back when I was on the freighter, but I only remember it now because for Daniel it just happened now."

Eloise and Charles exchanged looks. It was almost too much to hope for. They were here today, not to ask Desmond to go back to the island, not literally. They had planned to ask him to go with them to The Lamppost and see if Eloise could trigger an episode that would send Desmond's consciousness back to 1977. If he made it, he was to tell Daniel to stay far away from the hostiles. Since as far as they knew, Desmond had never been on the island in that time, it seemed fairly improbable. A mind couldn't be where a body hadn't, but Desmond seemed to already be an anomaly, and as Charles had said, "We're out of options." Now it appeared Daniel was one step ahead of them.

"What did he say?"

"He said a lot of things." Desmond regarded them with sternness, but you could also see he was excited to share what had happened. "I'm supposed to tell you right away that you are only to listen and not to bother asking me questions because I couldn't possible explain how this all worked, and he was right. He lost me quite soon after he said, 'Hello Desmond.'"

Impatience boiled inside her. Eloise's wanted to tell him to get on with it, however she was sure Daniel had also given instructions that she was to bite her tongue and mind her manners.

"Then, he explained that he was not the Daniel from the _Kahana_, but the Daniel from Ann Arbour, if that makes sense to you. He was there to pass on a message to his parents."

If Eloise cared to examine Penelope's reaction here, she imagined she would have added shock to her misgiving, but the woman did not interrupt to clarify any family tree designs, and Eloise respected that. "Go on," she urged.

Desmond spoke directly to Eloise. "He said he understood why you did it, and why you tried to undo it. He wanted me to tell you it's okay. You did your best. He forgives you, and he loves you."

_And he loves you_. Daniel had always been very generous with his expressions of love. As a boy, his "I love yous" had tumbled out frequently, if at non-traditional moments, such as in the middle of supper or after completing his Saturday afternoon chores. Even when his world grew busier, and he grew shyer, she would get letters home that ended with a reminder of his love. Even near the end, when there grew to be a distance between then over petty things like her dislike for Theresa, he would send her little gifts, like the scarf she wore now. Little did he know that every time he said that, her betrayal of him carved those three little words into her chest with a dull knife.

She glanced at Charles, who had never heard those words. Even though they were not meant for him, he seemed similarly affected. Eloise composed herself and asked Desmond, "Is that it?"

He shook his head. "No, there is much more. He also expressed his thanks. He said because of how you pushed him, he is pretty sure he had found a way to change what happened."

Eloise gasped. "Oh my god!" She was not sure if she said that or merely yelped. This time she could not look at Charles at all.

"But…" Desmond rushed to add. "You are not to be upset about the choice he made."

Charles stepped from the shadows and took over asking the questions. "What choice?"

Desmond frowned and looked down, troubled and weary. Fury rose in Eloise. Don't lose your nerve now Hume, she thought and it sounded like a growl. Just get on with it. Seeing Desmond waning, Penny came to him. She released Charlie onto the bed and he toddled over to his father, and burrowed himself in the nook of Desmond's good arm. This seemed to revive Desmond a little and he continued.

"He said things were going to change, but not for him. He couldn't risk moving too much around, but he was certain he found a way to save Charlotte."

This time Eloise could not restrain her anger. "Charlotte? Who's Charlotte?" She looked to all three adults, demanding an answer, but they looked as perplexed as she did. This was not happening. Daniel could not have thrown away everything on some girl no one knew.

Desmond explained as best he could. "All Daniel said was that Charlotte is the woman he loved."

Eloise looked to Charles for support, but all she found was placid admiration. It would be just like him not to appreciate what was happening here. Eloise returned her pointed state to Desmond, "Theresa, you mean Theresa?"

"No, I'm sure he said Charlotte, Charlotte Lewis. He said she came to the island with him and if his father did not remember her as the anthropologist he hired for the _Kahana_, then that meant his plan had worked for sure."

Charles unfolded his arms and rubbed his chin. "I didn't hire any anthropologist, and the only woman on my team was Dorrit. I don't know anyone called Charlotte or Lewis."

"So he did it. He saved her?" Desmond asked.

Charles looked flummoxed. "I suppose." He turned to Eloise. "Wasn't there a Lewis family among Dharma in the 70s, the one with all the little ginger haired girls. Is that who he means?"

Penelope spoke for the first time in ages. "That's strange. I went to school with a Charlotte Lewis. She studied Asian languages, and the last I heard she was teaching Korean at some school in Germany. I wonder if it is—"

Eloise could not take one more moment of this calm debate. "For Christ sake! Shut up, every one of you." Everyone's head swivelled to her. They all looked to her with a mixture of pity and curiosity, even the boy did. She could not stay in this space any longer. She picked herself off the bed, and fled the room. The fresh air was just as stifling outside, and she hurried off the boat, nearly tripping down the stairs. Once at the car, she considered just driving away and leaving Charles, however at that moment she could not even comprehend how a car worked. So she threw herself into the passenger seat and locked the doors.

The raised and simultaneously dashed hope was too much to process. Disappointment and rage came out in a wave of trembles. Her body shook so hard, the car moved a little under her. It almost felt like she was truly feeling Daniel's death for the first time, and if possible, it felt even more pointless than ever before. He had given up everything for some woman. Not only had he sacrificed himself, he allowed his mother to live with having killed him.

She caught herself on that last thought. Had she done all this to save Daniel or to save herself from the burden? Were they mutually exclusive? And how could he say he loved her when he now knew what she had done? Eloise let these thoughts stir inside her and welcomed the disturbance. This was never going to be over for her, and that was something she would finally have to face.

It could have minutes or hours later when Charles appeared; she had lost all concept of time. He dropped himself in the driver's seat, and did not speak or even acknowledge her presence. He put the key in the ignition and left the marina. Just before they hit the exit for the expressway, he turned on the heat. After a few minutes her trembles stopped.

Finally she could not take the silence anymore than she could the earlier speculation. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"I was thinking about how much you and Daniel are alike."

Eloise huffed. "You never knew Daniel."

"Do you remember when you foolishly gave away half the island because you missed me?"

For a moment Eloise had no idea what he referred to and then recalled his imprisonment and her idea for a truce with Dharma. "I saved your life."

"And was it worth it?"

She huffed again. He didn't want an answer to that. If she had let Charles die, Dharma would have been vanquished. Most likely she would still be on the island and there would never have been a torturous middle chapter involving a boy who could break your heart with his forgiveness.

Finally she replied, "If anything, Daniel's delusions of grandeur have to come from you."

That brought what could count as a smile to Charles's lips. "I'll take what I can get."

Eloise looked out the window at the fleet of cars racing beside them. The traffic never stopped in Los Angeles. Everyone always had somewhere to go. She only noticed this now because for the first time in her life, Eloise had nowhere to go.

Of course Charles took the opportunity to read her mind. "Are you up for a trip?" She raised an eyebrow. "You missed the end of Daniel's message." She raised her eyebrow further. "Just before the incident at Oxford, he travelled forward. Did he ever tell you this?"

Eloise recalled Daniel's dreamy voice at the hospital when recounting his swim in the ocean. She had forgotten that was a part of all this and how he claimed she had been there to watch him, as was the man he thought was his father. "Yes."

'He told Desmond the date for that was six weeks from now."

"On the island?"

Charles nodded. "Do you know where it would be then?"

"I could…but Charles, we would not be welcome."

"But we were there. He saw it."

"I don't know."

"We wouldn't be there to interfere with whatever Richard has going on now. We would just be there for Daniel. I think the island owes us that."

Eloise pulled the scarf off her neck and wrapped it around her hands tight enough to cut off the circulation. "What about your family here?"

"Matilda has preferred me gone than present for many years now. She never forgave me for driving Penny away."

'Did you tell your daughter about Daniel?"

"Yes, and it wouldn't surprise me if right now she's coming up with some scheme to bring him back. She's rather good at that."

Eloise humoured him by not scoffing at that suggestion. Daniel was not stuck in some hatch pressing a button, but she admired the girl's pluck. Estranged or not, Charles deserved to take some credit for Penelope's good character. In their case, it worked best when the children turned out to be everything their parents were not.

"What do you say?" he pressed. He sounded not a little desperate for her assistance and that aroused something in her. What a pair they made, she thought.

"Drop me off at The Lamppost."

x x x

**Six Weeks Later**

There's nothing like a war to welcome you home. Eloise and Charles arrived on the island via the borrowed _Our Mutual Friend_, but it they might as well have been dropped by helicopter into the jungles of Danang or the beaches of Dieppe. Before they even landed, the clouds of smoke that hovered over the treetops were a sign of great conflict. The nearby gunfire and one very loud explosion did not ruin Eloise's homecoming. As soon as she set foot on the shore, she felt more grounded than she could ever remember. The warring parties may change and the leader may come and go, but the island stayed the same.

Even the smells were familiar. As they trekked through the tall grass and tangled bush, she took deep gulps of air. A mouldy odour wafted up from underneath their feet. It mingled with the freshness that came with crisp new growth. If they were to go as far as their old camp, they would catch on the breeze all the bounty from the nearby fields – the corn, the berries, and of course, manure. In the old Dharma territory, Eloise knew she would probably still encounter a number of manufactured scents – paint, chocolate cake, gasoline. And then there was the ocean itself, which had dozens different aromas depending on its mood.

Finally, Eloise was overwhelmed by Charles's proximity and the smells that clung to him. They were mostly from the outside: his new clothes, suitable for the island but clearly from a store, and his cologne, a vestige from his days as a wining and dining CEO. There was even the faint odour of baby powder due to Charles's spilling of a bottle left behind on the boat by the Humes. Then there were the smells of old Charles, those born of his desires, his eagerness and triumph and sense of place. Although they skirted the fringes of the conflict and were unarmed, Charles walked through the island as he had in the past, like a general in search of a battle.

As they hiked to the east beach, they saw up close and from afar a number of people. From atop the crest of Arcade Peak, they spied LaFleur, still dressed in his Dharma coveralls, arguing with Austen and Shephard. At one point, they nearly stepped on Daniel's old companion, Chang's son, and the fat man from Flight 815, who they found hiding under a log. Probably because of their age, Charles and Eloise were dismissed as any type of threat and allowed to continue on, but not before she asked them if they had ever heard of someone named Charlotte. Miles's response was to roll his eyes and remark that the category for Final Jeopardy today must be weird old women. Meanwhile Hurley asked helpfully if she meant the spider from the book, the actress who played Mrs. Garrett on_Facts of Life_ or the little singer whose voice his mother loved. Their clueless replies were further proof of Daniel's success.

Near the beach Charles and Eloise came across Richard. He stood as unchanged as the island, speaking in Latin with a woman they didn't know. He expressed no surprise at seeing them, merely raised his hand in greeting like they had just seen each other at breakfast, or maybe for him, if felt like they had. They continued on their way without another word.

It was almost sunset when they arrived at the east beach. The war had not touched this part of the island. They were alone here, all except a sea turtle digging a nest in the sand.

"Well…" Charles trailed off.

"Well indeed," she replied, hugging herself.

Charles placed his hands on his hips and took charge. "It's going to be dark soon, we should gather wood—"

And then it happened. Daniel came striding out of the tree line like he had been waiting all this time for their arrival. He was dressed as he would to teach: dress pants, shirt and tie. His face was painted with wonder, and he stopped to pick up a handful of sand, and let it fall through his fingers.

"I can't believe this," Charles said.

"I know."

Daniel saw them and waved. He jogged over, full of glee; his crooked smile was tripping all over his face. "I did it. It works on people too."

Eloise unsuccessfully choked back tears. "I'm so proud of you, Daniel."

His pleasure grew with her praise, and then it fled, as he pondered both her tears and his situation. "When I am? Where am I?"

"It's 2008." Charles said. "I believe you've come five years forward."

Daniel took a deep breath and exhaled his amazement. "Wow. How do you know that?"

"You told me, son."

This answer seemed to satisfy Daniel. He patted his shirt pocket and searched though the ones in his pants. He came up empty handed. "I wish I had thought to bring a pen. I hope I remember this when I go back."

"You will," Eloise said. She wanted to touch Daniel and feel that he was really here and yet she did not want to know that too. Even if this was all in her head, it felt so good and right to see him again.

"What are you doing here, mom? Do you end up retiring here or something? Is this Florida?"

"I'm here to say good-bye, Daniel." Eloise bit her lip. "Do you understand?"

He shook his head. "Will I later?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I see." A visible shiver went through him. He turned away from them to look at the landscape. "I wonder how much time I have."

Eloise swallowed, and remembered what he had told her in the hospital all those years ago. "Probably enough for a swim."

Daniel looked out to the sea. "The ocean always reminds me of Debussy."

Without giving the idea anymore thought, he walked over to the water, and Charles had to stop her from following. He was right, they could not get too close or say too much. Daniel let the waves ride over his feet, and then walked out of its reach and kicked off his shoes and socks. The shirt and tie were similarly dismissed, followed by the pants, and he left just his shorts. He looked back at them, so slight and pale, and so very happy. "This is going to change everything. Theresa is not going believe it."

He waved once more, then entered the water. He dove under the first wave that hit him, and Eloise was certain he was not going to surface, but he did. They had the pleasure of watching him paddle around for a good five minutes before a bright yellow light cut across the setting sun and took him from them. She imagined him back in Oxford, lying on the floor of his lab half naked, dripping wet and laughing hysterically. She refused to think of what came next: the memory loss and more. She had to remember him like this, caught in the thrill of discovery, and so very alive.

"It was enough, wasn't it?" she said. She was trying to convince herself, not Charles.

"It was."

"That's more than most people get, isn't it. Enough?"

"Yes."

If there was one she knew about Charles, it was that he was rarely tongue tied. To cut the awkwardness of what had just happened, she just talked all the more. "Well, you were saying something about a fire. Let's see to that. It should be safe enough to sleep here on the beach tonight. Hopefully none of those hooligans has taken the _Friend_ hostage, and then tomorrow we might see if—"

"Ellie…"

The way he said her name, she knew exactly what he was going to propose. "Charles."

"I'm not going back."

"Oh, is it that easy?"

"Isn't it what you want too?" He picked up her hand; his thumb grazed the thin skin stretched over her wrist. "This is our home."

Eloise left her hand in his, but looked away to the ocean where Daniel had been just minutes ago, and where his pile of clothes still remained. "Your daughter is not going to be pleased. She'll want her boat back."

Charles waved away her weak attempt at a roadblock. "Penelope has everything she'll ever need. Just like I do here, that is, if you'll stay with me."

She looked back at him. There was never a time on this island when Eloise had not been with him in some way. There had been Charles, her rival and playmate, and then Charles, her sometimes ally and sometimes lover. Back then he had always been so desperate to be something, a soldier, a leader, a father. And now none of that was available, and he just wanted to be with her. She didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted.

"I'm too old for island magic and games." It was a warning for him and her, and anyone else who might be listening.

He picked up her other hand, and kissed both of them. She hated the way he could do that, just make her want him with the barest touch of skin. She hated that he knew that, and that is why he smirked at her right now. "We'll stay out of that," he promised.

She rolled her eyes in way that would make Chang's son jealous. "Unlikely."

"Then we'll show them how it's done properly."

She could have put up more of a fight, and tested his patience, only to turn the tables on him, and make him beg, but she was not lying when she said she was too old for those games. So she merely said, "Fine."

"Fine? Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that."

Charles's lips found hers, and she allowed his kiss. Meanwhile, she reached up and undid her hair. It scattered wildly, whipping in the wind, like she had never let it be. And with that there was a mutual surrender, one that had been in the making for over sixty years.

x x x

The End.

Author's Note: Thank you for following this series to the end. I so appreciate and cherish the feedback and support from those who left comments and encouraged me along the way.


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